^1  .  \  iy 


/■ 


I 


%,:i\i 


v^'i  't 


*-. 


>tA 


V 


:■  0 


Dawn  OF  All 


Robert  Hugh  Benson 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


The  Glenn  Negley  Collection 
of  Utopian  Literature 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 


BY 

ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 

AUTHOR  OF   "CHRIST   IN   THE   CHURCH,"   "NONE  OTHER 

GODS,"   "A  WINNOWING,  *  "THE   NECROMANCERS," 

"THE   CONVENTIONALISTS,"  ETC. 


ST.  LOUIS,  MO.,   1911 
Published  by  B.   Herder 

17  South  Broadway 


Copyright,  191 1,  by  Joseph  Gummersbach 


-BECKTOLD  — 

PRINTING  AND  BOOK  MFG.  CO. 
ST.  LOUIS.  MO. 


RBR 


»*/ 


PREFACE 

TN  a  former  book,  called  Lord  of  the  World,  I 
^  attempted  to  sketch  the  kind  of  developments  a 
hundred  years  hence  which,  I  thought,  might  reason- 
ably be  expected  if  the  present  lines  of  what  is 
called  ''  modern  thought  "  were  only  prolonged  far 
enough;  and  I  was  infonned  repeatedly  that  the  ef- 
fect of  the  book  was  exceedingly  depressing  and 
discouraging  to  optimistic  Christians.  In  the  pres- 
ent book  I  am  attempting  —  also  in  parable  form  — ■ 
not  in  the  least  to  withdraw  anything  that  I  said 
in  the  former,  but  to  follow  up  the  other  lines  in- 
stead, and  to  sketch  —  again  in  parable  —  the  kind 
of  developments  about  sixty  years  hence  which,  I 
think,  may  reasonably  be  expected  should  the  op- 
posite process  begin,  and  ancient  thought  (which  has 
stood  the  test  of  centuries,  and  is,  in  a  very  remark- 
able manner,  being  "  rediscovered  "  by  persons  even 
more  modern  than  modernists)  be  prolonged  in- 
stead. We  are  told  occasionally  by  moralists  that 
we  live  in  very  critical  times,  by  which  they  mean 
that  they  are  not  sure  whether  their  own  side  will 
win  or  not.  In  that  sense  no  times  can  ever  be 
critical  to  Catholics,  since  Catholics  are  never  in  any 


PREFACE 

kind  of  doubt  as  to  whether  or  no  their  side  will 
win.  But  from  another  point  of  view  every  period 
is  a  critical  period,  since  every  period  has  within 
itself  the  conflict  of  two  irreconcilable  forces.  It 
has  been  for  the  sake  of  tracing  out  the  kind  of  ef- 
fects that,  it  seemed  to  me,  each  side  would  experi- 
ence in  turn,  should  the  other,  at  any  rate  for  a 
while,  become  dominant,  that  I  have  written  these 
two  books. 

ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON. 
Rome,  Lent,  ipii. 


PART  I 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

PROLOGUE 

/'GRADUALLY  memory  and  consciousness  once 
^'^  more  reasserted  themselves,  and  he  became 
aware  that  he  was  lying  in  bed.  But  this  w^as  a 
sad  process  of  intense  mental  effort,  and  w^as  as 
laboriously  and  logically  built  up  of  premises  and 
deductions  as  were  his  theological  theses  learned 
twenty  years  before  in  his  seminary.  There  was 
the  sheet  below  his  chin;  there  was  a  red  coverlet 
(seen  at  first  as  a  blood-colored  landscape  of  hills 
and  valleys)  ;  there  was  a  ceiling  overhead,  at  first  as 
remote  as  the  vault  of  heaven. 

Then,  little  by  little,  the  confused  roaring  in  his 
ears  sank  to  a  murmur.  It  had  been  just  now  as 
the  sound  of  brazen  hammers  clanging  in  rever- 
berating caves,  the  rolling  of  wheels,  the  tramp  of 
countless  myriads  of  men.  But  it  had  become  now 
a  soothing  murmur,  not  unlike  the  coming  in  of  a 
tide  at  the  foot  of  high  cliffs  —  just  one  gentle  con- 
tinuous note,  overlaid  with  light,  shrill  sounds. 
This  too  required  long  argument  and  reasoning  be- 

I 


2  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

fore  any  conclusion  could  be  reached;  but  it  was 
attained  at  last,  and  he  became  certain  that  he  lay 
somewhere  within  sound  of  busy  streets.  Then 
rashly  he  leapt  to  the  belief  that  he  must  be  in  his 
own  lodgings  in  Bloomsbury ;  but  another  long  slow 
stare  upwards  showed  him  that  the  white  ceiling  was 
too  far  away. 

The  effort  of  thought  seemed  too  much  for  him; 
it  gave  him  a  sense  of  inexplicable  discomfort.  He 
determined  to  think  no  more,  for  fear  that  the  noises 
should  roar  again  to  the  crash  of  hammers  in  his 
hollow  head.     .     .     . 

He  was  next  conscious  of  a  pressure  on  his  lips, 
and  a  kind  of  shadow  of  a  taste  of  something.  But 
it  was  no  more  than  a  shadow:  it  was  as  if  he  were 
w^atching  someone  else  drink  and  perceiving  some- 
one else  to  swallow.  .  .  .  Then  with  a  rush 
the  ceiling  came  back  into  view :  he  w^as  aware  that 
he  was  lying  in  bed  under  a  red  coverlet;  that  the 
room  was  large  and  airy  above  him ;  and  that  two 
persons,  a  doctor  in  white  and  a  nurse,  were  watch- 
ing him.  He  rested  in  that  knowledge  for  a  long 
time,  w^atching  memory  reassert  itself.  Detail  after 
detail  sprang  into  view :  farther  and  farther  back 
into  his  experience,  far  down  into  the  .childhood  he 
had  forgotten.  He  remembered  now  who  he  was, 
his  story,  his  friends,  his  life  up  to  a  certain  blank 
day  or  set  of  days,  between  him  and  which  there 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  3 

was  nothing.  Then  he  saw  the  faces  again,  and  it 
occurred  to  him,  with  a  flash  as  of  illumination,  to 
ask.  So  he  began  to  ask;  and  he  considered  care- 
fully each  answer,  turning  it  over  and  reflecting 
upon  it  with  what  seemed  to  him  an  amazing  degree 
of  concentration. 

"  So  I  am  in  Westminster  Hospital,"  he  consid- 
ered. "  That  is  extraordinarily  interesting  and  af- 
fecting. I  have  often  seen  the  outside  of  it.  It 
is  of  discolored  brick.  And  I  have  been  here 
.  .  .  how  long?  how  long,  did  they  say?  Oh! 
that  is  a  long  time.  Five  days !  And  wdiat  in  the 
world  can  have  happened  to  my  work?  They  will 
be  looking  out  for  me  in  the  Museum.  How  can 
Dr.  Waterman's  history  get  on  without  me?  I 
must  see  about  that  at  once.  He'll  understand  that 
it's  not  my  fault.     .     .     . 

"What's  that?  I  mustn't  trouble  myself  about 
that!  But  —  Oh!  Dr.  Waterman  has  been  here, 
has  he?  That's  very  kind  —  very  kind  and 
thoughtful  indeed.  And  I'm  to  take  my  time,  am 
I?  Very  well.  Please  thank  Dr.  Waterman  for 
his  kindness  and  his  thoughtfulness  in  inquiring. 
.  .  .  And  tell  him  I'll  be  with  him  again  in  a 
day  or  two  at  any  rate.  .  .  .  Oh !  tell  him  that 
he'll  find  the  references  to  the  thirteenth-century 
papers  in  the  black  notebook  —  the  thick  one  —  on 
the    right   of    the   fireplace.     They're    all    verified. 


4  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Thank  you.  Thank  you  very  much.  .  .  .  And 
.  .  .  and  ...  by  the  way  .  .  .  just 
tell  him  I'm  not  sure  yet  about  the  Piccolomini  mat- 
ter. .  .  .  What's  that  ?  I'm  not  to  trouble  my- 
self? ...  But  ...  Oh!  very  well. 
Thank  you.     .     .     .     Thank  you  very  much." 

There  followed  a  long  pause.  He  was  thinking 
still  very  hard  about  the  thirteenth-century  Popes. 
It  was  really  very  tiresome  that  he  could  not  ex- 
plain to  Dr.  AVaterman  himself.  He  was  certain 
that  some  of  the  pages  in  his  thick  black  notebook 
were  loose;  and  how  terrible  it  would  be  if  the  book 
were  taken  out  carelessly,  and  some  of  the  pages 
fell  into  the  fire.  They  easily  might!  And  then 
there'd  be  all  the  work,  to  do  again.  .  .  .  And 
that  would  mean  weeks  and  weeks. 

Then  there  came  a  grave,  quiet  voice  of  a  woman 
speaking  in  his  ear ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  could  not 
understand.  He  wished  it  would  let  him  alone. 
He  wanted  to  think  about  the  Popes.  He  tried 
nodding  and  murmuring  a  general  sort  of  assent,  as 
if  he  wished  to  go  to  sleep;  but  it  was  useless:  the 
voice  w^ent  on  and  on.  And  then  suddenly  he  un- 
derstood, and  a  kind  of  fury  seized  him. 

How  did  they  know  he  had  once  been  a  priest? 
Spying  and  badgering,  as  usual!  .  .  .  No:  he 
did  not  want  a  priest  sent  for.  He  was  not  a  priest 
any  more ;  not  even  a  Catholic.     It  was  all  lies  — 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  5 

lies  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  —  all  that  they 
had  taught  him  in  the  seminary.  It  was  all  lies! 
There !     Was  that  plain  enough  ?     .     .     . 

Ah !  why  would  not  the  voice  be  quiet  ?     .     .     . 
He  was  in  great  danger,  was  he?     He  would  be  un- 
conscious again  soon,  would  he?     Well,  he  didn't 
know  what  they  meant  by  that ;  but  what  had  it  to 
do  with  him?     No :  he  did  not  want  a  priest.    Was 
that    clear    enough?     ...     He    was    perfectly 
clear-headed ;  he  knew  what  he  was  saying.      .      .      . 
Yes ;  even  if  he  were  in  great  danger     .     .     . 
even  if  he  were  practically  certain  to  die.     That,  by 
the  way,  was  impossible;  because  he  had  to  finish 
the  notes  for  Dr.  Waterman's  new  History  of  the 
Popes;   and   it  would   take  months.     Anyhow,   he 
didn't  want  a  priest.     He  knew  all  about  that:  he 
had  faced  it  all,  and  he  wasn't  afraid.     Science  had 
knocked  all  that   religious  nonsense  on  the  head. 
There  wasn't  any  religion.     All  religions  were  the 
same.     There   wasn't   any   truth   in  any  of   them. 
Physical  science  had  settled  one-half  of  the  matter, 
and  psychology  the  other  half.     It  was  all  accounted 
for.     So  he  didn't  want  a  priest  —  anyhow.    Damn 
priests!     There!   would   they   let   him   alone   after 
that?     .     .     . 

And  now  as  to  the  Piccolomini  affair.  It  was 
certain  that  when  ^neas  was  first  raised  to  the 
Sacred  College     .     .     . 


6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Why  .  .  .  what  was  happening  to  the  ceil- 
ing? How  could  he  attend  to  ^neas  while  the  ceil- 
ing behaved  like  that?  He  had  no  idea  that  ceil- 
ings in  the  Westminster  Hospital  could  go  up  like 
lifts.  How  very  ingenious!  It  must  be  to  give 
him  more  air.  Certainly  he  wanted  more  air. 
.  .  .  The  walls  too.  .  .  .  Ought  not  they 
also  to  revolve?  They  could  change  the  whole  air 
in  the  room  in  a  moment.  What  an  extraordinarily 
ingenious.  .  .  .  Ah !  and  he  wanted  it.  .  .  . 
He  wanted  more  air.  .  .  .  Why  don't  those 
doctors  know  their  business  better?  .  .  . 
What  was  the  good  of  catching  hold  of  him  like 
that?  .  .  .  He  wanted  air  .  .  .  more  air. 
.  .  .  He  must  get  to  the  window !  .  .  .  Air 
.     .     .     air!     .     .     . 


T 


CHAPTER  I 

(I) 
■HE  first  objects  of  which  he  became  aware 
were  his  own  hands  clasped  on  his  lap  be- 
fore him,  and  the  cloth  cuffs  from  which  they 
emerged;  and  it  was  these  latter  that  puzzled  him. 
So  engrossed  was  he,  that  at  first  he  could  not  pay 
attention  to  the  strange  sounds  in  the  air  about  him ; 
for  these  cuffs,  though  black,  were  marked  at  their 
upper  edges  with  a  purple-red  line  such  as  prelates 
wear.  He  mechanically  turned  the  backs  of  his 
hands  upwards ;  but  there  was  no  ring  on  his  finger. 
Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked. 

He  was  seated  on  some  kind  of  raised  chair  be- 
neath a  canopy.  A  carpet  ran  down  over  a  couple 
of  steps  beneath  his  feet,  and  beyond  stood  the 
backs  of  a  company  of  ecclesiastics  —  secular  priests 
in  cotta,  cassock,  and  biretta,  with  three  or  four 
bare-footed  Franciscans  and  a  couple  of  Benedic- 
tines. Ten  yards  away  there  was  a  temporary  pul- 
pit with  a  back  and  a  sounding-board  beneath  the 
open  sky;  and  in  it  was  the  tall  figure  of  a  young 

7 


8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

friar,  preaching,  it  seemed,  with  extraordinary  fer- 
vor. Around  the  pulpit,  beyond  it,  and  on  all  sides 
to  an  immense  distance,  so  far  as  he  could  see, 
stretched  the  heads  of  an  incalculable  multitude, 
dead  silent,  and  beyond  them  again  trees,  green 
against  a  blue  summer  sky. 

He  looked  on  all  this,  but  it  meant  nothing  to 
him.  It  fitted  in  nowhere  with  his  experience;  he 
knew  neither  where  he  was,  nor  at  what  he  was  as- 
sisting, nor  who  these  people  were,  nor  who  the 
friar  was,  nor  who  he  was  himself.  He  simply 
looked  at  his  surroundings,  then  back  at  his  hands 
and  down  his  figure. 

He  gained  no  knowledge  there,  for  he  was  dressed 
as  he  had  never  been  dressed  before.  His  caped 
cassock  was  black,  with  purple  buttons  and  a  purple 
cincture.  He  noticed  that  his  shoes  shone  with  gold 
buckles ;  he  glanced  at  his  breast,  but  no  cross  hung 
there.  He  took  off  his  biretta,  nervously,  lest  some- 
one should  notice,  and  perceived  that  it  was  black 
with  a  purple  tassel.  He  was  dressed  then,  it 
seemed,  in  the  costume  of  a  Domestic  Prelate.  He 
put  on  his  biretta  again. 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  to  think;  but 
he  could  remember  nothing.  There  was,  it  seemed, 
no  continuity  anywhere.  But  it  suddenly  struck 
him  that  if  he  knew  that  he  was  a  Domestic  Prelate, 
and  if  he  could  recognize  a  Franciscan,  he  must 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  9 

have     seen     those     phenomena     before.     Where? 
When? 

Little  pictures  began  to  form  before  him  as  a 
result  of  his  intense  mental  effort,  but  they  were 
far  away  and  minute,  like  figures  seen  through  the 
wrong  end  of  a  telescope;  and  they  afforded  no  ex- 
planation. But,  as  he  bent  his  whole  mind  upon  it, 
he  remembered  that  he  had  been  a  priest  —  he  had 
distinct  memories  of  saying  mass.  But  he  could 
not  remember  where  or  when;  he  could  not  even 
remember  his  own  name. 

This  last  horror  struck  him  alert  again.  He  did 
not  know  who  he  was.  He  opened  his  eyes  widely, 
terrified,  and  caught  the  eye  of  an  old  priest  in 
cotta  and  cassock  who  was  looking  back  at  him  over 
his  shoulder.  Something  in  the  frightened  face 
must  have  disturbed  the  old  man,  for  he  detached 
himself  from  the  group  and  came  up  the  two  steps 
to  his  side. 

''What  is  it,  Monsignor?"  he  whispered. 

''I  am  ill  .  .  .  I  am  ill  .  .  .  father," 
he  stammered. 

The  priest  looked  at  him  doubtfully  for  an  in- 
stant. 

"  Can  you  ...  can  you  hold  out  for  a  lit- 
tle ?     The  sermon  must  be  nearly  — " 

Then  the  other  recovered.  He  understood  that 
at  whatever  cost  he  must  not  attract  attention. 


lo  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  nodded  sharply. 

"  Yes,  I  can  hold  out,  father;  if  he  isn't  too  long. 
But  you  must  take  me  home  afterwards." 

The  priest  still  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Go  back  to  your  place,  father.  I'm  all  right. 
Don't  attract  attention.  Only  come  to  me  after- 
wards." 

The  priest  went  back,  but  he  still  glanced  at  him 
once  or  twice. 

Then  the  man  who  did  not  know  himself  set  his 
teeth  and  resolved  to  remember.  The  thing  was 
too  absurd.  He  said  to  himself  he  would  begin  by 
identifying  where  he  was.  li  he  knew  so  much  as 
to  his  own  position  and  the  dresses  of  those  priests, 
his  memory  could  not  be  wholly  gone. 

In  front  of  him  and  to  the  right  there  w^ere  trees, 
beyond  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  There  was  some- 
thing vaguely  familiar  to  him  about  the  arrange- 
ment of  these,  but  not  enough  to  tell  him  anything. 
He  craned  forward  and  stared  as  far  to  the  right 
as  he  could.  There  were  more  trees.  Then  to  the 
left;  and  here,  for  the  first  time,  he  caught  sight 
of  buildings.  But  these  seemed  very  odd  buildings 
—  neither  houses  nor  arches  —  but  something  be- 
tween the  two.  They  were  of  the  nature  of  an 
elaborate  gateway. 

And  then  in  a  flash  he  recognized  where  he  was. 
He  was  sitting,  under  this  canopy,  just  to  the  right 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  il 

as  one  enters  through  Hyde  Park  Corner;  these 
trees  were  the  trees  of  the  Park;  that  open  space  in 
front  was  the  beginning  of  Rotten  Row ;  and  Some- 
thing Lane  —  Park  Lane — (that  was  it!) — was 
behind  him. 

Impressions  and  questions  crowded  upon  him 
quickly  now  —  yet  in  none  of  them  was  there  a  hint 
as  to  how  he  got  here,  nor  who  he  was,  nor  what  in 
the  world  was  going  on.  This  friar!  What  was 
he  doing,  preaching  in  Hyde  Park  ?  It  was  ridicu- 
lous—  ridiculous  and  very  dangerous.  It  would 
cause  trouble. 

He  leaned  forward  to  listen,  as  the  friar  with  a 
wide  gesture  swept  his  hand  round  the  horizon. 

"Brethren,"  he  cried,  "look  round  you!  Fifty 
years  ago  this  was  a  Protestant  country,  and  the 
Church  of  God  a  sect  among  the  sects.  And  to- 
day—  to-day  God  is  vindicated  and  the  truth  is 
known.  Fifty  years  ago  we  were  but  a  handful 
among  the  thousands  that  knew  not  God,  and  to- 
day we  rule  the  world.  '  Son  of  man,  can  these 
dry  bones  live?  '  So  cried  the  voice  of  God  to  the 
prophet.  And  behold!  they  stood  up  upon  their 
feet,  an  exceeding  great  army.  If  then  He  has 
done  such  things  for  us,  what  shall  He  not  do  for 
those  for  whom  I  speak?  Yet  he  works  through 
man.     *And  shall  they  hear  without  a  preacher?' 

Do  you  see  to  it  then  that  there  are  not  wanting 
2 


12  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

laborers  in  that  vineyard  of  which  you  have  heard. 
Already  the  grapes  hang  ready  to  pluck,  and  it  is 
but  we  that  are  wanting.  .  .  .  Send  forth  then 
laborers  into  My  vineyard,  cries  the  Lord  of  all." 

The  words  were  ill-chosen  and  commonplace 
enough,  and  uttered  in  an  accent  indefinably  strange 
to  the  bewildered  listener,  but  the  force  of  the  man 
was  tremendous,  as  he  sent  out  his  personality  over 
the  enormous  crowd,  on  that  high  vibrant  voice  that 
controlled,  it  seemed,  even  those  on  the  outskirts  far 
up  the  woods  on  either  side.  Then  with  a  swift  sign 
of  the  cross,  answered  generally  by  those  about  the 
pulpit,  he  ended  his  sermon  and  disappeared  down 
the  steps,  and  a  great  murmur  of  talk  began. 

But  what  in  the  world  was  it  all  about,  won- 
dered the  man  under  the  canopy.  What  was  this 
vineyard?  and  why  did  he  appeal  to  English  people 
in  such  words  as  these?  Every  one  knew  that  the 
Catholic  Church  was  but  a  handful  still  in  this  coun- 
try.    Certainly,     progress    had    been    made,     but 

He  broke  off  his  meditations  as  he  saw  the  group 
of  ecclesiastics  coming  towards  him,  and  noticed 
that  on  all  sides  the  crowd  was  beginning  to  dis- 
perse. He  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair  fiercely, 
trying  to  gain  self-command.  He  must  not  make 
a  fool  of  himself  before  all  these  people,  he  must  be 
discreet  and  say  as  little  as  possible. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  13 

But  there  was  no  great  need  for  caution  at  pres- 
ent. The  old  priest  who  had  spoken  to  him  before 
stepped  a  little  in  advance  of  the  rest,  and  turning, 
said  a  low  sentence  or  two  to  the  Benedictines ;  and 
the  group  stopped,  though  one  or  two  still  eyed,  it 
seemed,  with  sympathy,  the  man  who  awaited  him. 
Then  the  priest  came  up  alone  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"  Come  out  this  way,"  he  whispered.  "  There's 
a  path  behind,  Monsignor,  and  I've  sent  orders  for 
the  car  to  be  there." 

The  man  rose  obediently  (he  could  do  nothing 
else),  passed  down  the  steps  and  behind  the  canopy. 
A  couple  of  police  stood  there  in  the  familiar  old 
uniform,  and  these  drew  themselves  up  and  saluted. 
They  went  on  down  the  little  pathway  and  out 
through  a  side-gate.  Here  again  the  crowd  was  tre- 
mendous, but  barriers  kept  them  away,  and  the  two 
passed  on  together  across  the  pavement,  saluted  by 
half  a  dozen  men  who  were  pressed  against  the  bar- 
riers—  (it  was  here,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  be- 
wildered man  noticed  that  the  dresses  seemed  alto- 
gether unfamiliar)  — and  up  to  a  car  of  a  peculiar 
and  unknown  shape,  that  waited  in  the  roadway, 
with  a  bare-headed  servant,  in  some  strange  purple 
livery,  holding  the  door  open. 

"  After  you,  Monsignor,"  said  the  old  priest. 

The  other  stepped  in  and  sat  down.     The  priest 


14  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  then  leaned  forward 
into  the  car. 

"  You  have  an  appointment  in  Dean's  Yard,  Mon- 
signor,  you  remember.  It's  important,  you  know. 
Are  you  too  ill  ?  " 

'*  I  can't,  ...  I  can't,  .  .  ."  stammered 
the  man. 

"  Well,  at  least,  we  can  go  round  that  way.  I 
think  we  ought,  you  know.  I  can  go  in  and  see  him 
for  you,  if  you  wish;  and  we  can  at  any  rate  leave 
the  papers." 

"  Anything,  anything.     Very  well." 

The  priest  got  in  instantly;  the  door  closed;  and 
the  next  moment,  through  crowds,  held  back  by  the 
police,  the  great  car,  with  no  driver  visible  in  front, 
through  the  clear-glass  windows,  moved  off  south- 
ward. 

(") 

It  was  a  moment  before  either  spoke.  The  old 
priest  broke  the  silence.  He  was  a  gentle-faced  old 
man,  not  unlike  a  very  shrewd  and  wide-awake  dor- 
mouse; and  his  white  hair  stood  out  in  a  mass  be- 
neath his  biretta.  But  the  words  he  used  were 
unintelligible,  though  not  altogether  unfamiliar. 

"  I  ...  I  don't  understand,  father,"  stam- 
mered the  man. 

The  priest  looked  at  him  sharply. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  15 

"I  was  saying,"  he  said  slowly  and  distinctly, 
"  I  was  saying  that  you  looked  very  well,  and  I  was 
asking  you  what  was  the  matter." 

The  other  was  silent  a  moment.  How  to  explain 
the  thing!  .  .  .  Then  he  determined  on  mak- 
ing a  clean  breast  of  it.  This  old  man  looked 
kindly  and  discreet. 

''  I  .  .  .  I  think  it's  a  lapse  of  memory/'  he 
said.  ''  I've  heard  of  such  things.  I  ...  I 
don't  know  where  I  am  nor  what  I'm  doing.  Are 
you  ...  are  you  sure  you're  not  making  a 
mistake?  Have  I  got  any  right  — ?  " 
The  priest  looked  at  him  as  if  puzzled. 
"I  don't  quite  understand,  Monsignor.  What 
can't  you  remember?  " 

''  I  can't  remember  anything,"  wailed  the  man, 
suddenly  broken  down.  "Nothing  at  all.  Not 
who  I  am,  nor  where  I'm  going,  or  where  I  come 
from.  .  .  .  What  am  I?  Who  am  I?  Father, 
for  God's  sake  tell  me." 

"  Monsignor,  be  quiet,  please.  You  mustn't  give 
way.     Surely  — " 

"  I  tell  you  I  can  remember  nothing.  .  .  . 
It's  all  gone.  I  don't  know  who  you  are.  I  don't 
know  what  day  it  is,  or  what  year  it  is,  or  any- 
thing—" 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  his  eyes  met  a 
look  of  a  very  peculiar  power  and  concentration. 


i6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  sank  back  into  his  seat  strangely  quieted  and 
soothed. 

"  Now,  Monsignor,  listen  to  me.  You  know 
who  I  am  — "  (he  broke  off).  "  I'm  Father  Jervis. 
I  know  about  these  things.  You'll  be  all  right  pres- 
ently, I  hope.     But  you  must  be  perfectly  quiet — " 

"  Tell  me  who  I  am,"  stammered  the  man. 

*'  Listen,  then.  You  are  Monsignor  Masterman, 
secretary  to  the  Cardinal.  You  are  going  back  to 
Westminster  now,  in  your  own  car  — " 

"What's  been  going  on?  What  was  all  that 
crowd  about?  " 

Still  the  eyes  were  on  him,  compelling  and  pene- 
trating. 

"  You  have  been  presiding  at  the  usual  midday 
Saturday  sermon  in  Hyde  Park,  on  behalf  of  the 
Missions  to  the  East.  Do  you  remember  now? 
No!  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least.  That 
was  Father  Anthony  who  was  preaching.  He  was 
a  little  nervous,  you  noticed.  It  was  his  first  ser- 
mon in  Hyde  Park.*' 

"  I  saw  he  was  a  friar,"  murmured  the  other. 

"  Oh !  you  recognized  his  habit  then?  There,  you 
see ;  your  memory's  not  really  gone.  And  .  .  . 
and  what's  the  answer  to  Domimis  vobiscumf" 

"  Et  cum  spiritu  tiio." 

The  priest  smiled,  and  the  pressure  on  the  man's 
arm  relaxed. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  17 

"That's  excellent.  It's  only  a  partial  obscurity. 
Why  didn't  you  understand  me  when  I  spoke  to 
you  in  Latin  then?  " 

"That  was  Latin?  I  thought  so.  But  you 
spoke  too  fast;  and  I'm  not  accustomed  to  speak 
it." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  grave  humor. 

"  Not  accustomed  to  speak  it,  Monsignor ! 
Why — "  (He  broke  off  again.)  "Look  out  of 
the  window,  please.     Where  are  we  ?  " 

The  other  looked  out.  (He  felt  greatly  elated 
and  comforted.  It  was  quite  true ;  his  memory  was 
not  altogether  gone  then.  Surely  he  would  soon 
be  well  again!)  Out  of  the  windows  in  front,  but 
seeming  to  wheel  swiftly  to  the  left  as  the  car 
whisked  round  to  the  right,  was  the  Victoria  Tower. 
He  noticed  that  the  hour  pointed  to  five  minutes 
before  one. 

"  Those  are  the  Houses  of  Parliament,"  he  said. 
"  And  what's  that  tall  pillar  in  the  middle  of  Par- 
liament Square  ?  " 

"  That's  the  image  of  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion. But  what  did  you  call  those  buildings  just 
now?  " 

"Houses  of  Parliament,  aren't  they?"  faltered 
the  man,  terrified  that  his  brain  was  really  going. 

"  Why  do  you  call  them  that  ?  " 

"It  is  their  name,  isn't  it?" 


i8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  It  used  to  be ;  but  it  isn't  the  usual  name  now." 

"  Good  God !  Father,  am  I  mad  ?  Tell  me. 
What  year  is  it?" 

The  eyes  looked  again  into  his. 

"  Monsignor,   think.     Think  hard." 

"  I  don't  know.  ...  I  don't  know.  .  .  . 
Oh,  for  God's  sake !     .     .     ." 

"  Quietly  then.  .  .  .  It's  the  year  nineteen 
hundred  and  seventy-three." 

"It  can't  be;  it  can't  be,"  gasped  the  other. 
"  Why,  I  remember  the  beginning  of  the  century." 

"  Monsignor,  attend  to  me,  please.  .  .  . 
That's  better.  It's  the  year  nineteen  hundred  and 
seventy-three.  You  were  born  in  the  year  —  in  the 
year  nineteen  hundred  and  thirty.  You  are  just 
forty  years  old.  You  are  secretary  and  chaplain  to 
the  Cardinal  —  Cardinal  Bellairs.  Before  that  you 
were  Rector  of  St.  Mary's  in  the  West.  .  .  . 
Do  you  remember  now  ?  " 

"  I  remember  nothing." 

"  You  remember  your  ordination?  " 

"  No.  Once  I  remember  saying  Mass  some- 
where.    I  don't  know  where." 

"Stay,  we're  just  there."  (The  car  wheeled  in 
swiftly  under  an  archway,  whisked  to  the  left,  and 
drew  up  before  an  archway.)  "  Now,  Monsignor, 
I'm  going  in  to  see  the  Prior  myself  and  give  him 
the  papers.     You  have  them  ?  " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  19 

"  I     ...     I  don't  know." 

The  priest  dived  forward  and  extracted  a  small 
despatch-box  from  some  unseen  receptacle. 

"  Your  keys,  please,  Monsignor." 

The  other  felt  wildly  about  his  person.  He  saw 
the  steady  eyes  of  the  old  priest  upon  him. 

"  You  keep  them  in  your  left-hand  breast  pocket," 
said  the  priest  slowly  and  distinctly. 

The  man  felt  there,  fetched  out  a  bundle  of  thin, 
flat  keys,  and  handed  them  over  helplessly.  While 
the  priest  turned  them  over,  examining  each,  the 
other  stared  hopelessly  out  of  the  window,  past  the 
motionless  servant  in  purple  who  waited  with  his 
hand  on  the  car-door.  Surely  he  knew  this  place. 
.  .  .  Yes,  it  was  Dean's  Yard.  And  this  was  the 
entrance  to  the  cloister  of  the  Abbey.  But  who  was 
the  Prior,  and  what  was  it  all  about? 

He  turned  to  the  other,  who  by  now  was  bending 
over  the  box  and  extracting  a  few  papers  laid  neatly 
at  the  top. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  father  ?  Who  are  you 
going  to  see?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  take  these  papers  of  yours  to  the 
Prior  —  the  Prior  of  Westminster.  The  Abbot 
isn't  here  yet.  Only  a  few  of  the  monks  have 
come." 

"Monks!     Prior!     Father!" 

The  old  man  looked  him  in  the  eyes  again. 


20  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Yes,"  he  said  quietly.  "  The  Abbey  was  made 
over  again  to  the  Benedictines  last  year,  but  they 
haven't  yet  formally  taken  possession.  And  these 
papers  concern  business  connected  with  the  whole 
affair  —  the  relations  of  seculars  and  regulars.  I'll 
tell  you  afterwards.  I  must  go  in  now,  and  you 
must  just  remain  here  quietly.  Tell  me  again. 
What  is  your  name  ?     Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  ...  I  am  Monsignor  Masterman 
.     .     .     secretary  to  Cardinal  Bellairs." 

The  priest  smiled  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  door. 

"  Quite  right,"  he  said.  "  And  please  sit  here 
quietly,  Monsignor,  till  I  come  back." 

(Ill) 

He  sat  in  perfect  silence,  waiting,  leaning  back 
in  his  corner  with  closed  eyes,  compelling  himself 
to  keep  his  composure. 

It  was,  at  any  rate,  good  luck  that  he  had  fallen 
in  with  such  a  friend  as  this  —  Father  Jervis,  was 
it  not  ?  —  who  knew  all  about  him,  and,  obviously, 
could  be  trusted  to  be  discreet.  He  must  just  at- 
tend to  his  instructions  quietly  then,  and  do  what  he 
was  told.  No  doubt  things  would  come  back  soon. 
But  how  very  curious  this  all  was  about  Hyde  Park 
and  Westminster !  He  could  have  sworn  that  Eng- 
land was  a  Protestant  country,  and  the  Church  just 
a  tiny  fragment  of  its  population.     Why,  it  was 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  21 

only  recently  that  Westminster  Cathedral  was  built 
—  was  it  not  ?  But  then  this  was  the  year  seventy- 
three  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  he  could  not  re- 
member what  year  the  Cathedral  was  built  in. 
Then  again  the  horror  and  bewilderment  seized  him. 
He  gripped  his  knees  with  his  hands  in  an  agony  of 
consternation.  He  would  go  mad  if  he  could  not 
remember.  Or  at  least —  Ah!  here  was  Father 
Jervis  coming  back  again. 

The  two  sat  quite  silent  again  for  a  moment,  as 
the  car  moved  off. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  priest  suddenly,  "  don't  you 
remember  faces,  or  people's  names?  " 

The  other  concentrated  his  mind  fiercely  for  a 
moment  or  two. 

"  I  remember  some  faces  —  yes,"  he  said.  ''  And 
I  remember  some  names.  But  I  cannot  remember 
which  faces  belong  to  which  names.  ...  I 
remember  the  name  Archbishop  Bourne;  and 
.     .     .     and  a  priest  called  Farquharson  — " 

"What  have  you  been  reading  lately?  .  .  . 
Ah!  I  forgot.  Well;  but  can't  you  remember  the 
Cardinal     .     .     .     Cardinal  Bellairs?" 

"  I've  never  heard  of  him." 

"  Nor  what  he  looks  like?  " 

"  I  haven't  a  notion." 

The  priest  again  was  silent. 

"  Look  here,  Monsignor,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  I'd 


22  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

better  take  you  straight  up  to  your  rooms  as  soon 
as  we  arrive ;  and  I'll  have  a  notice  put  up  on  your 
confessional  that  you  are  unable  to  attend  there  to- 
day. You'll  have  the  whole  afternoon  —  after 
four  at  least  —  to  yourself,  and  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  We  needn't  tell  a  soul  until  we're  certain 
that  it  can't  be  helped,  not  even  the  Cardinal.  But 
I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  preside  at  lunch  to-day." 

"Eh?" 

"  Mr.  Manners  is  coming,  you  know,  to  consult 
with  the  Cardinal;  and  I  think  if  you  weren't  there 
to  entertain  him — " 

Monsignor  nodded  sharply,  with  compressed  lips. 

"  I  understand.  But  just  tell  me  who  Mr.  Man- 
ners is?  " 

The  priest  answered  without  any  sign  of  discom- 
posure. 

"  He's  a  member  of  the  Government.  He's  the 
great  Political  Economist.  And  he's  coming  to 
consult  with  the  Cardinal  about  certain  measures 
that  affect  the  Church.     Do  you  remember  now?'* 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  just  talk  to  him  vaguely.  I'll  sit  oppo- 
site and  take  care  that  you  don't  make  any  mis- 
takes. Just  talk  to  him  generally.  Talk  about  the 
sermon  in  Hyde  Park,  and  the  Abbey.  He  won't 
expect  you  to  talk  politics  publicly." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  23 

"Fll'try." 

The  car  drew  up  as  the  conversation  ended;  and 
the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory  glanced  out.  To 
his  intense  relief,  he  recognized  where  he  was.  It 
was  the  door  of  Archbishop's  House,  in  Ambrosden 
Avenue ;  and  beyond  he  perceived  the  long  northern 
side  of  the  Cathedral. 

"  I  know  this,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  you  do,  my  dear  Monsignor,"  said 
the  priest  reassuringly.  ''  Now  follow  me :  bow  to 
any  one  who  salutes  you;  but  don't  speak  a  word." 

They  passed  in  together  through  the  door,  past  a 
couple  of  liveried  servants  who  held  it  open,  up  the 
staircase  and  beyond  up  the  further  flight.  The  old 
priest  drew  out  a  key  and  unlocked  the  door  before 
them;  and  together  they  turned  to  the  left  up  the 
corridor,  and  passed  into  a  large,  pleasant  room 
looking  out  on  to  the  street,  with  a  further  door 
communicating  with  a  bedroom  beyond.  Fortu- 
nately they  had  met  no  one  on  the  way. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Father  Jervis  cheerfully. 
"  Now,  Monsignor,  do  you  know  where  you  are?  " 

The  other  shook  his  head  dolorously. 

"  Come,  come ;  this  is  your  own  room.  Look 
at  your  writing-table,  Monsignor;  where  you  sit 
every  day." 

The  other  looked  at  it  eagerly  and  yet  vaguely. 
A  half-written  letter,  certainly  in  his  own  handwrit- 


24  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

ing,  lay  there  on  the  blotting-pad,  but  the  name  of 
his  correspondent  meant  nothing  to  him ;  nor  did  the 
few  words  which  he  read.  He  looked  round  the 
room  —  at  the  bookcases,  the  curtains,  the  prie-dieu. 
.     .     .     And  again  terror  seized  him. 

''  I  know  nothing,  father  .  .  .  nothing  at 
all.     It's  all  new!     For  God's  sake!     .     .     ." 

"  Quietly  then,  Monsignor.  It's  all  perfectly 
right.  .  .  .  Now  I'm  going  to  leave  you  for 
ten  minutes,  to  arrange  about  the  places  at  lunch. 
You'd  better  lock  your  door  and  admit  no  one. 
Just  look  round  the  rooms  when  I'm  gone  —  Ah !  " 

Father  Jervis  broke  off  suddenly  and  darted  at 
an  armchair,  where  a  book  lay  face  downwards  on 
the  seat.  He  snatched  up  the  book,  glanced  at  the 
pages,  looked  at  the  title,  and  laughed  aloud. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said ;  "  I  was  certain  of  it. 
You've  got  hold  of  Manners'  History.  Look! 
you're  at  the  very  page." 

He  held  it  up  for  the  other  to  see.  Monsignor 
looked  at  it,  still  only  half  comprehending,  and  just 
noticing  that  the  paper  had  a  peculiar  look,  and 
saw  that  the  running  dates  at  the  top  of  the  pages 
contained  the  years  1904-1912.  The  priest  shook 
the  book  in  gentle  triumph.  A  sheet  of  paper  fell 
out  of  it,  which  he  picked  up  and  glanced  at.  Then 
he  laughed  again. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  you've  been  taking  notes  of  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  25 

very  period  —  no  doubt  in  order  to  be  able  to  talk 
to  Manners.  That's  the  time  he  knows  more  about 
than  any  living  soul.  He  calls  it  the  '  crest  of  the 
wave/  you  know.  Everything  dated  from  then,  in 
his  opinion." 

"  I  don't  understand  a  word  — " 

*'  See  here,  Monsignor,"  interrupted  the  priest  in 
mild  glee,  ''  here's  a  subject  to  talk  about  at  lunch. 
Just  get  Manners  on  to  it,  and  you'll  have  no  trou- 
ble. Tell  him  you've  been  reading  his  History  and 
want  a  bird's-eye  view." 

Monsignor  started. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  ''and  that'll  tell  me  the 
facts,  too." 

'*  Excellent.  Now,  Monsignor,  I  must  go.  Just 
look  round  the  rooms  well  and  get  to  know  where 
things  are  kept.  I'll  be  back  in  ten  minutes,  and 
we'll  have  a  good  talk  before  lunch  as  to  all  who'll 
be  there.  It'll  all  go  perfectly  smoothly,  I  promise 
you." 

(ivy 

When  the  door  closed  Monsignor  Masterman 
looked  round  him  slowly  and  carefully.  He  had 
an  idea  that  the  mist  must  break  sooner  or  later  and 
that  all  would  become  familiar  once  again.  It  was 
perfectly  plain,  by  now,  to  his  mind,  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him ;  and  the  fact  there  were  certain  things 


26  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

which  he  recognized,  such  as  the  Cathedral,  and 
Hyde  Park,  and  a  friar's  habit,  and  Archbishop's 
House  —  all  this  helped  him  to  keep  his  head.  If 
he  remembered  so  much,  there  seemed  no  intrinsic 
reason  why  he  should  not  remember  more. 

But  his  inspection  was  disappointing.  Not  only 
was  there  not  one  article  in  the  room  which  he 
knew,  but  he  did  not  even  understand  the  use  of 
some  of  the  things  which  he  saw.  There  was  a  row 
of  what  looked  like  small  black  boxes  fastened  to 
the  right-hand  wall,  about  the  height  of  a  man's 
head;  and  there  was  some  kind  of  a  machine,  all 
wheels  and  handles,  in  the  corner  by  the  nearer  win- 
dow, which  was  completely  mysterious  to  him. 

He  glanced  through  into  the  bedroom,  and  this 
was  not  much  better.  Certainly  there  was  a  bed; 
there  was  no  mistake  about  that ;  and  there  seemed 
to  be  wardrobes  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  walls  on  all 
sides ;  but  although  in  this  room  he  thought  he  rec- 
ognized the  use  of  everything  which  he  saw,  there 
was  no  single  thing  that  wore  a  familiar  aspect. 

He  came  back  to  his  writing-table  and  sat  down 
before  it  in  despair.  But  that  did  not  reassure  him. 
He  took  out  one  or  two  of  the  books  that  stood 
there  in  a  row  —  directories  and  address-books  they 
appeared  chiefly  to  be  —  and  found  his  name  writ- 
ten in  each,  with  here  and  there  a  note  or  a  correc- 
tion, all  in  his  own  handwriting.     He  took  up  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  2/ 

half-written  letter  again  and  glanced  through  it 
once  more,  but  it  brought  no  relief.  He  could  not 
even  conjecture  how  the  interrupted  sentence  on  the 
third  page  ought  to  end. 

Again  and  again  he  tried  to  tear  up  from  his  in- 
ner consciousness  something  which  he  could  remem- 
ber, closing  his  eyes  and  sinking  his  head  upon  his 
hands,  but  nothing  except  fragments  and  glimpses 
of  vision  rose  before  him.  It  was  now  a  face  or  a 
scene  to  which  he  could  give  no  name;  now  a  sen- 
tence or  a  thought  that  owned  no  context.  There 
was  no  frame  at  all  —  no  unified  scheme  in  which 
those  fragments  found  cohesion.  It  was  like  re- 
garding the  pieces  of  a  shattered  jar  whose  shape 
even  could  not  be  conjectured.     .     .     . 

Then  a  sudden  thought  struck  him;  he  sprang 
up  quickly  and  ran  into  his  bedroom.  A  tall  mir- 
ror, he  remembered,  hung  between  the  windows. 
He  ran  straight  up  to  this  and  stood  staring  at  his 
own  reflection.  It  was  himself  that  he  saw  there  — 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that  —  every  line  and  fea- 
ture of  that  keen,  pale,  clear-cut  face  was  familiar, 
though  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  hair  was  a  little 
grayer  than  it  ought  to  be. 


CHAPTER  II 

(I) 

C4T  SHALL  be  delighted,  Monsignor,"  said  the 
thin,  professional-looking  statesman,  in  his 
high,  dry  voice ;  ''  I  shall  be  delighted  to  sketch  out 
what  seem  to  be  the  principal  points  in  the  cen- 
tury's development." 

A  profound  silence  fell  upon  all  the  table. 

Really,  Monsignor  Masterman  thought  to  him- 
self, as  he  settled  down  to  listen,  he  had  done  very 
well  so  far.  He  had  noticed  the  old  priest  opposite 
smiling  more  than  once,  contentedly,  as  their  eyes 
met. 

Father  Jervis  had  come  to  him  as  he  had  prom- 
ised, for  half  an  hour's  good  talk  before  lunch ;  and 
they  had  spent  a  very  earnest  thirty  minutes  to- 
gether. First  they  had  discussed  with  great  care 
all  the  persons  who  would  be  present  at  lunch  — 
not  more  than  eight,  besides  themselves ;  the  priest 
had  given  him  a  little  plan  of  the  table,  showing 
where  each  would  sit,  and  had  described  their  per- 
sonal appearance  and  recounted  a  salient  fact  or 
two  about  every  one.     These  were  all  priests  except 

2^ 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  29 

Mr.  Manners  himself  and  his  secretary.  The  rest 
of  the  time  had  been  occupied  in  information  being 
given  to  the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory,  with  re- 
gard to  a  few  very  ordinary  subjects  of  conversation 
—  the  extraordinary  fairness  of  the  weather;  a  new 
opera  produced  with  unparalleled  success  by  a 
**  well-known  "  composer  of  whom  Monsignor  had 
never  heard ;  a  recent  Eucharistic  congress  in  Tokio, 
from  which  the  Cardinal  had  just  returned;  and 
the  scheme  for  re-decorating  the  interior  of  Arch- 
bishop's House. 

There  had  not  been  time  for  more;  but  these 
subjects,  under  the  adroit  handling  of  Father  Jer- 
vis,  had  proved  sufficient;  and  up  to  the  precon- 
certed moment  when  Monsignor  had  uttered  the 
sentence  about  his  study  of  Mr.  Manners'  History 
of  Twentieth  Century  Development  which  had 
drawn  from  the  author  the  words  recorded  above, 
all  had  gone  perfectly  smoothly. 

There  had  been  a  few  minor  hitches;  for  exam- 
ple, the  food  and  the  manner  of  serving  it  and  the 
proper  method  of  consuming  it  had  furnished  a  bad 
moment  or  two;  and  once  Monsignor  had  been 
obliged  to  feign  sudden  deafness  on  being  asked  a 
question  on  a  subject  of  which  he  knew  nothing 
by  a  priest  whose  name  he  had  forgotten,  until 
Father  Jervis  slid  in  adroitly  and  saved  him.  Yet 
these  were  quite  unnoticed,  it  appeared,  and  could 


30  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

easily  be  attributed  to  the  habit  of  absent-minded- 
ness for  which,  Monsignor  Masterman  was  reHeved 
to  learn,  he  was  almost  notorious. 

And  now  the  crisis  was  past  and  Mr.  Manners 
was  launched.  Monsignor  glanced  almost  happily 
round  the  tall  dining-room,  from  which  the  servants 
had  already  disappeared,  and,  with  his  glass  in  his 
hand,  settled  himself  down  to  listen  and  remember. 

"  The  crisis,  to  my  mind,  in  the  religious  situa- 
tion," began  the  statesman,  looking  more  profes- 
sional than  ever,  with  his  closed  eyes,  thin,  wrinkled 
face,  and  high  forehead  — "  the  real  crisis  is  to  be 
sought  in  the  period  from  1900  to  1920. 

"  This  was  the  period,  you  remember,  of  tre- 
mendous social  agitation.  There  was  the  wide- 
spread revolution  of  the  Latin  countries,  beginning 
with  France  and  Portugal,  chiefly  against  Authority, 
and  most  of  all  against  Monarchy  (since  Monarchy 
is  the  most  vivid  and  the  most  ornate  embodiment 
of  authority)  ;  and  in  Teutonic  and  Anglo-Saxon 
countries  against  Capital  and  Aristocracy.  It  was 
in  these  years  that  Socialism  came  most  near  to 
dominating  the  civilized  world;  and,  indeed,  you 
will  remember  that  for  long  after  that  date  it  did 
dominate  civilization  in  certain  places. 

"  Now  the  real  trouble  at  the  bottom  of  all  this 
w^as  the  state  in  which  Religion  found  itself.  And 
you  will  find,  gentlemen,"  said  the  quasi-lecturer  in 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  31 

parenthesis,  glancing  round  the  attentive  faces, 
''  that  ReHgion  always  is  and  always  has  been  at 
the  root  of  every  world-movement.  In  fact  it  must 
be  so.  The  deepest  instinct  in  man  is  his  religion, 
that  is,  his  attitude  to  eternal  issues ;  and  on  that  at- 
titude must  depend  his  relation  to  temporal  things. 
This  is  so,  largely,  even  in  the  case  of  the  individual ; 
it  must  therefore  be  infinitely  more  so  in  large 
bodies  or  nations;  since  every  crowd  is  moved  by 
principles  that  are  the  least  common  multiple  of 
the  principles  of  the  units  which  compose  it.  Of 
course  this  is  universally  recognized  now ;  but  it  was 
not  always  so.  There  was  a  time,  particularly  at 
this  period  of  wdiich  I  am  now  speaking,  when  men 
attempted  to  treat  Religion  as  if  it  were  one  de- 
partment of  life,  instead  of  being  the  whole  founda- 
tion of  every  and  all  life.  To  treat  it  so  is,  of 
course,  to  proclaim  oneself  as  fundamentally  irre- 
ligious —  and,  indeed,  very  ignorant  and  unedu- 
cated. 

'^  To  resume,  however :  — 

''  Religion  at  this  period  was  at  a  very  strange 
crisis.  That  it  could  possibly  be  treated  in  the  way 
I  have  mentioned  shows  how  very  deeply  irreligion 
had  spread.  There  is  no  such  thing,  of  course, 
really  as  Irreligion  —  except  by  a  purely  conven- 
tional use  of  the  word :  the  *  irreligious  '  man  is  one 
who  has  made  up  his  mind  either  that  there  is  no 


32  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

future  world,  or  that  it  is  so  remote,  as  regards  ef- 
fectivity,  as  to  have  no  bearing  upon  this.  And 
that  is  a  reHgion  —  at  least  it  is  a  dogmatic  creed  — 
as  much  as  any  other. 

"  The  causes  of  this  state  of  affairs  I  take  to  have 
been  as  follows :  — 

"  Religion  up  to  the  Reformation  had  been  a  mat- 
ter of  authority,  as  it  is  again  now;  but  the  enor- 
mous development  of  various  sciences  and  the  wide 
spread  of  popular  '  knowledge '  had,  in  the  first 
flush,  distracted  attention  from  that  which  is  now, 
in  all  civilized  countries,  simply  an  axiom  of 
thought,  viz.,  that  a  Revelation  of  God  must  be  em- 
bodied in  a  living  authority  safeguarded  by  God. 
Further,  at  that  time  science  and  exact  knowledge 
generally  had  not  reached  the  point  which  they 
reached  a  little  later  —  of  corroborating  in  particu- 
lar after  particular,  so  far  as  they  are  capable  of 
doing  so,  the  Revelation  of  God  known  as  Cathol- 
icism; and  of  knowing  their  limitations  when  they 
cannot.  Many  sciences,  at  this  time,  had  gone  no 
further  than  to  establish  certain  facts  which  ap- 
peared, to  the  very  imperfectly  educated  persons  of 
that  period,  to  challenge  and  even  to  refute  certain 
facts  or  deductions  of  Revelation.  Psychology, 
for  example,  strange  as  it  now  appears  in  our  own 
day,  actually  seemed  to  afford  other  explanations 
of  the  Universe  than  that  of  Revelation.     (We  will 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  33 

discuss  details  presently.)      Social  Science,  at  that 
time,  too,  moved  in  the  direction  of  Democracy  and 
even  Socialism.     I  know  it  appears  monstrous,  and 
indeed  almost  incredible,  that  men  who  really  had 
some  claim  to  be  called  educated  seriously  main- 
tained that  the  most  stable  and  the  most  reasonable 
method  of  government  lay  in  the  extension  of  the 
franchise  —  that  is,  in  reversing  the  whole  eternal 
and  logical  order  of  things,  and  permitting  the  inex- 
pert to  rule  the  expert,  and  the  uneducated  and  the 
ill-informed  to  control    by  their  votes  —  that  is,  by 
sheer  weight  of  numbers  —  the  educated  and  the 
well-informed.     Yet  such  was  the  case.     And  the 
result  was  —  since  all  these  matters  act  and  react  — 
that  the  idea  of  authority  from  above  in  matters  of 
religion  was  thought  to  be  as  *  undemocratic,'   as 
in  matters   of   government  and   social  life.     Men 
had  learnt,  that  is  to  say,  something  of  the  very  real 
truth  in  the  theory  of  the  least  common  multiple, 
and,  as  in  psychology  and  many  other  sciences,  had 
presumed  that  the  little  fragment  of  truth  that  they 
had  perceived  was  the  whole  truth." 

Mr.  Manners  paused  to  draw  breath.  Assuredly 
he  was  enjoying  himself  enormously.  He  was  a 
born  lecturer,  and  somehow  the  rather  pompous  sen- 
tences were  strangely  alive  and  strangely  interest- 
ing. Above  all,  they  fascinated  and  amazed  the 
prelate  at  the  head  of  the  table,  for  they  revealed  to 


34  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

him  an  advance  of  thought  and  an  assurance  in  the 
position  they  described  that  seemed  wholly  inex.pli- 
cable.  Such  phrases  as  "  all  educated  men,"  ''  the 
well-informed,"  and  the  fest  —  these  were  vaguely 
familiar  to  him,  yet  surely  in  a  very  different  con- 
nection. He  had  at  the  back  of  his  mind  a  kind  of 
idea  that  these  w^ere  the  phrases  that  the  irreligious 
or  the  agnostics  applied  to  themselves ;  yet  here  was 
a  man,  obviously  a  student,  and  a  statesman  as  he 
knew,  calmly  assuming  (scarcely  even  giving  him- 
self the  trouble  to  state)  that  all  educated  and  well- 
informed  persons  were  Catholic  Christians! 

He  settled  himself  down  with  renewed  interest  to 
listen  again,  as  Mr.  Manners  began  once  more. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  to  come  more  directly  to  our 
point;  let  us  next  consider  what  were  those  steps 
and  processes  by  which  Catholic  truth  once  more 
became  the  religion  of  the  civilized  world,  as  it  had 
been  five  centuries  earlier. 

"  And  first  we  must  remark  that  even  at  the  very 
beginning  of  this  century  popular  thought  —  in 
England  as  elsewhere  —  had  retraced  its  steps  so 
far  as  to  acknowledge  that  if  Christianity  were  true 
—  true,  really  and  actually  —  the  Catholic  Church 
was  the  only  possible  embodiment  of  it.  Not  only 
did  the  shrewdest  agnostic  minds  of  the  time  ac- 
knowledge this  —  such  men  as  Huxley  in  the  previ- 
ous century,  Sir  Leslie  Stephen,  Mallock,  and  scores 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  35 

of  others  —  but  even  popular  Christianity  itself  be- 
gan to  turn  in  that  direction.  Of  course  there  were 
survivals  and  reactions,  as  we  should  expect.  There 
was  a  small  body  of  Christians  in  England  called 
Anglicans,  who  attempted  to  hold  another  view; 
there  was  that  short-lived  movement  called  Mod- 
ernism, that  held  yet  a  third  position.  But,  for  the 
rest,  it  was  as  I  say. 

"  It  was  the  Catholic  Church  or  nothing.  And 
just  for  a  few  years  it  seemed  humanly  possible  that 
it  might  be  nothing. 

"  And  now  for  the  causes  of  the  revival. 

"  Briefly,  I  should  say  they  were  all  included  un- 
der one  head  —  the  correlation  of  sciences  and  their 
coincidence  into  one  point.  Let  us  take  them  one 
by  one.  We  have  only  time  to  glance  very  super- 
ficially at  each. 

"  First  there  was  Psychology. 

"  Even  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  it 
was  beginning  to  be  perceived  that  there  was  an  in- 
explicable force  working  behind  mere  matter.  This 
force  was  given  a  number  of  names  —  the  *  sub- 
liminal consciousness,'  in  man,  and  '  nature '  in  the 
animal,  vegetable,  and  even  mineral  creation;  and 
it  gave  birth  to  a  series  of  absurd  superstitions  such 
as  that  now  wholly  extinct  sect  called  '  Christian 
Science,'  or  the  Mental  Healers ;  and  among  the  less 
educated  of  the  Materialists,  to  Pantheism.     But 


36  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  force  was  acknowledged,  and  it  was  perceived 
to  move  along  definite  lines  of  law.  Further,  in  the 
great  outburst  of  Spiritualism  it  began  gradually  to 
be  evident  to  the  world  that  this  force  occasionally 
manifested  itself  in  a  personal,  though  always  a 
malevolent  manner.  Now  it  must  be  remembered 
that  even  this  marked  an  immense  advance  in  the 
circles  called  scientific;  since  in  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  even  the  phenomena  so  care- 
fully recorded  by  the  Church  were  denied.  These 
were  now  no  longer  denied,  since  phenomena,  at 
least  closely  resembling  them,  were  matters  of  com- 
mon occurrence  under  the  eyes  of  the  most  sceptical. 
Of  course,  since  the  inquiries  were  made  along 
purely  *  scientific  '  lines  —  lines  which  in  those  days 
were  nothing  other  than  materialistic  —  an  attempt 
was  made  to  account  for  the  phenomena  by  new 
anti-spiritual  theories  hastily  put  together  to  meet 
the  emergency.  But,  little  by  little,  an  uneasy  sense 
began  to  manifest  itself  that  the  Church  had  already 
been  familiar  with  the  phenomena  for  about  two 
thousand  years,  and  that  a  body  which  had  marked 
and  recorded  facts  with  greater  accuracy  than  all 
the  *  scientists  '  put  together  at  least  had  some  claim 
to  consideration  with  regard  to  her  hypothesis  con- 
cerning them.  Further,  it  began  to  be  seen  (what 
is  perfectly  familiar  to  us  all  now)  that  Religion 
contributed  an  element  which  nothing  else  could  con- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  37 

tribute  —  that,  for  example,  '  Religious  Suggestion,' 
as  it  was  called  in  the  jargon  of  the  time,  could  ac- 
complish things  that  ordinary  '  Suggestion '  could 
not.  Finally  the  researches  of  psychologists  into 
what  was  then  called  the  phenomenon  of  *  Alter- 
nating Personality  '  prepared  the  way  for  a  frank 
acceptance  of  the  Catholic  teaching  concerning  Pos- 
session and  Exorcism  —  teaching  which  half  a  cen- 
tury before  would  have  been  laughed  out  of  court 
by  all  who  claimed  the  name  of  Scientist.  Psychol- 
ogy then,  up  to  this  point,  had  rediscovered  that  a 
Force  was  working  behind  physical  phenomena,  it- 
self not  physical;  that  this  Force  occasionally  ex- 
hibited characteristics  of  Personality;  and  finally 
that  the  despised  Catholic  Church  had  been  more 
scientific  than  scientists  in  her  observation  of  facts; 
and  that  this  Force,  dealt  with  along  Christian  lines, 
could  accomplish  what  it  was  unable  to  accomplish 
along  any  other. 

'*  The  next  advance  lay  along  the  lines  of  Com- 
parative  Religion. 

"  The  study  of  Comparative  Religion  was  prac- 
tically a  new  science  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  like  all  new  sciences,  claimed  at  once, 
before  it  had  constructed  its  own,  to  destroy  the 
schemes  of  others.  For  instance,  there  were  actu- 
ally educated  persons  who  advanced  as  an  argu- 
ment against  Christianity  the  fact  that  many  Chris- 


38  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

tian  dogmas  and  ceremonies  were  to  be  found  in 
other  religions.  It  is  exceedingly  difficult  for  us 
now,  even  in  imagination,  to  sympathize  with  such 
a  mentality  as  this ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that 
the  science  was  very  youthful,  and  had  all  the  inex- 
perience and  the  arrogance  of  youth.  As  time  went 
on,  however,  this  argument  began  to  disappear,  ex- 
cept in  very  elementary  rationalistic  manuals,  as 
the  fact  became  evident  that  while  this  or  that  par- 
ticular religion  had  one  or  more  identities  with 
Christian  doctrines,  Christianity  possessed  them  all ; 
that  Christianity,  in  short,  had  all  the  principal  doc- 
trines of  all  religions  —  or  at  least  all  doctrines 
that  were  of  any  strength  to  other  religions,  as  well 
as  several  others  necessary  to  weld  these  detached 
dogmas  into  a  coherent  whole  —  that,  to  use  a  sim- 
ple metaphor,  Christianity  stood  in  the  world  like  a 
light  upon  a  hill,  and  that  partial  and  imperfect  re- 
flections of  this  light  were  thrown  back,  with  more 
or  less  clearness,  from  the  various  human  systems 
of  belief  that  surrounded  it.  And  at  last  it  became 
evident,  even  to  the  most  unintelligent,  that  the  only 
scientific  explanation  of  this  phenomenon  lay  in  the 
theory  that  Christianity  was  indeed  unique,  and,  at 
the  very  least,  was  the  most  perfect  human  system 
of  faith  —  perfectly  human,  I  mean,  in  that  it  em- 
bodied and  answered  adequately  all  the  religious 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  39 

aspirations  of  the  human  race  — the  most  perfect 
system  of  faith  the  world  had  ever  seen. 

*'A  third  cause  was  to  be  found  in  the  new 
philosophy  of  evidence  that  began  to  prevail  soon 
after  the  dawn  of  the  century. 

''  Up  to  that  period,  so-called  Physical  Science 
had  so  far  tyrannized  over  men's  minds  as  to  per- 
suade them  to  accept  her  claim  that  evidence  that 
could  not  be  reduced  to  her  terms  was  not,  prop- 
erly speaking,  evidence  at  all.     Men  demanded  that 
purely   spiritual  matters  should  be,   as  they   said, 
'  proved,'  by  which  they  meant  should  be  reduced  to 
physical  terms.     Little  by  little,  however,  the  pre- 
posterous  nature    of    this    claim   was   understood. 
People  began  to  perceive  that  each  order  of  life  had 
evidence  proper  to   itself  — that  there  were  such 
things,  for  instance,  as  moral  proofs,  artistic  proofs, 
and   philosophical   proofs;    and   that   these   proofs 
were    not    interchangeable.     To    demand    physical 
proof  for  every  article  of  belief  was  as  fantastic  as 
to  demand,  let  us  say,  a  chemical  proof  of  the  beauty 
of  a  picture,  or  evidence  in  terms  of  light  or  sound 
for  the  moral  character  of  a  friend,  or  mathematical 
proof  for  the  love  of  a  mother  for  her  child.     This 
very  elementary  idea  seems  to  have  come  like  a 
thunderclap  upon  many  who  claimed  the  name  of 
'thinkers';  for  it  entirely  destroyed  a  whole  artil- 


40  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

lery  of  arguments  previously  employed  against  Re- 
vealed Religion. 

''  For  a  time,  Pragmatism  came  to  the  rescue 
from  the  philosophical  camp;  but  the  assault  was 
but  a  very  short  one;  since  tested  by  Pragmatic 
methods  (that  is,  the  testing  of  the  truth  of  a  re- 
ligion by  its  appeal  to  human  consciousness)  if  one 
fact  stood  out  luminous  and  undisputed,  it  was  that 
the  Catholic  Religion,  with  its  eternal  appeal  in 
every  century  and  to  every  type  of  temperament, 
was  utterly  supreme. 

"  Let  us  turn  to  another  point  — " 

(Mr.  Manners  lifted  the  glass  he  had  been  twirl- 
ing between  his  fingers,  and  drank  it  off  with  an 
appearance  of  enjoyment.     Then  he  continued.) 

"  Let  us  turn  to  the  realm  of  politics  —  even  to 
the  realm  of  trade. 

"  Socialism,  in  its  purely  economic  aspect,  was  a 
well-meant  attempt  to  abolish  the  law  of  competi- 
tion —  that  is,  the  natural  law  of  the  Survival  of  the 
Fittest.  It  was  an  attempt,  I  say;  and  it  ended, 
as  we  know,  in  disaster;  for  it  established  instead, 
so  far  as  it  was  successful,  the  law  of  the  Survival 
of  the  Majority,  and  tyrannized  first  over  the  mi- 
nority and  then  over  the  individual. 

**  But  it  was  a  well-meant  attempt ;  since  its  in- 
stinct was  perfectly  right,  that  competition  is  not  the 
highest  law  of  the  Universe.     And  there  were  sev- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  41 

eral  other  ideals  in  Socialism  that  were  most  com- 
mendable in  theory:  for  example,  the  idea  that  the 
Society  sanctifies  and  safeguards  the  individual,  not 
the  individual  the  Society ;  that  obedience  is  a  much- 
neglected  virtue,  and  so  forth. 

'^  Then,  suddenly  almost,  it  seems  to  have  dawned 
upon  the  world  that  all  the  ideals  of  Socialism 
(apart  from  its  methods  and  its  dogmas)  had  been 
the  ideals  of  Christianity;  and  that  the  Church  had, 
in  her  promulgation  of  the  Law  of  Love,  antici- 
pated the  Socialist's  discovery  by  about  two  thou- 
sand years.  Further,  that  in  the  Religious  Orders 
these  ideals  had  been  actually  incarnate ;  and  that  by 
the  doctrine  of  vocation  —  that  is  by  the  freedom 
of  the  individual  to  submit  himself  to  a  superior  — 
the  rights  of  the  individual  were  respected  and  the 
rights  of  the  Society  simultaneously  vindicated. 

"  A  very  good  example  of  all  this  is  to  be  found 
in  the  Poor-law  system. 

"  You  remember  that  before  the  Reformation, 
and  in  Catholic  countries  long  after,  there  was  no 
Poor-law  system,  because  the  Religious  Houses 
looked  after  the  sick  and  needy.  Well,  when  the 
Religious  Houses  were  destroyed  in  England  the 
State  had  to  do  their  work.  You  could  not  simply 
flog  beggars  out  of  existence,  as  Elizabeth  tried  to 
do.  Then  the  inevitable  happened,  and  it  began  to 
be  a  mark  of  disgrace  to  be  helped  by  the  State  in 


'42  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

a  workhouse:  people  often  preferred  to  starve. 
Then  at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  a 
well-meant  attempt  was  made,  in  the  Old-Age  Pen- 
sions, to  remedy  this  and  to  keep  the  poor  in  a 
manner  that  would  not  injure  their  self-respect.  Of 
course  that  failed  too.  It  is  incredible  that  states- 
men did  not  see  it  must  be  so.  Old- Age  Pensions, 
too,  began  to  be  considered  a  mark  of  disgrace  — 
for  the  simple  cause  that  it  is  not  the  giving  of 
money  that  is  resented,  but  the  motive  for  which 
the  money  is  given  and  the  position  of  the  giver. 
The  State  can  only  give  for  economic  reasons,  how- 
ever conscientious  and  individually  charitable 
statesmen  may  be;  while  the  Church  gives  for  the 
Love  of  God,  and  the  Love  of  God  never  yet  de- 
stroyed any  man's  self-respect.  Well,  you  know 
the  end.  The  Church  came  forward  once  more 
and,  under  certain  conditions,  offered  to  relieve  the 
State  of  the  entire  burden.  Two  results  followed 
—  first,  all  grievances  vanished;  and  secondly,  the 
whole  pauper  population  of  England  within  ten 
years  was  Catholic  in  sympathies.  And  yet  all  this 
is  only  a  reversion  to  medieval  times  —  a  reversion 
made  absolutely  necessary  by  the  failure  of  every  at- 
tempt to  supplant  Divine  methods  by  human. 

"  Now  look  at  it  all  in  another  way  —  the  gen- 
eral situation,  I  mean. 

"  The  Socialist  saw  plainly  the  rights  of  the  So- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  43 

ciety;  the  Anarchist  saw  the  rights  of  the  Indi- 
vidual. How  therefore  were  these  to  be  recon- 
ciled? The  Church  stepped  in  at  that  crucial  point 
and  answered,  By  the  Family  —  whether  domestic 
or  religious.  For  in  the  Family  you  have  both 
claims  recognized:  there  is  authority  and  yet  there 
is  liberty.  For  the  union  of  the  Family  lies  in 
Love;  and  Love  is  the  only  reconciliation  of  au- 
thority and  liberty. 

"  Now,  as  I  have  put  it  —  and  as  we  all  now  see 
it  —  the  argument  is  simplicity  itself.  But  it  took 
a  long  time  to  be  recognized;  and  it  was  not  until 
after  the  appalling  events  of  the  first  twenty  years 
of  the  century,  and  the  discrediting  of  the  absurd 
Socialistic  attempt  to  preach  the  Law  of  Love  by 
methods  of  Force,  that  civilization  as  a  whole  saw 
the  point.  Yet  for  all  that  it  was  beginning  to 
mold  popular  opinion  even  as  early  as  19 10. 

"  Turn  now  to  a  completely  different  plane. 
Turn  to  Art.  This,  too,  drove  men  back  to  the 
Church." 

(Mr.  Manners*  air  was  becoming  now  less  pro- 
fessional and  more  vivid.  He  glanced  quickly 
from  face  to  face  with  a  kind  of  sharp  triumph; 
his  long,  thin  hands  waved  a  slight  gesture  now  and 
again. ) 

"  Art,  you  remember,  in  the  end  of  the  Vic- 
torian era  had  attempted  to  become  realistic  —  had 


44  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

attempted,  that  is,  the  absurdly  impossible;  and 
photography  exposed  the  absurdity.  For  no  man 
can  be  truly  a  realist,  since  it  is  literally  impossible 
to  paint  or  to  describe  all  that  the  eye  sees.  When 
photography  became  general,  this  began  to  be  un- 
derstood; since  it  was  soon  seen  that  the  only  pho- 
tographer who  could  lay  any  claim  to  artistic  work 
was  the  man  who  selected  and  altered  and  posed  — 
arranged  his  subject,  that  is  to  say,  in  more  or 
less  symbolic  form.  Then  people  began  to  see 
again  that  Symbolism  was  the  underlying  spirit  of 
Art  —  as  they  had  known  perfectly  well,  of  course, 
in  mediaeval  days :  that  Art  consisted  in  going  be- 
neath the  material  surfaces  that  reflected  light,  or 
the  material  events  that  happened,  in  painting  and 
literature  respectively,  and,  by  a  process  of  selection, 
of  symbolizing  (not  photographically  representing) 
the  Ideas  beneath  the  Things  —  the  Substance 
beneath  the  Accidents  —  the  Thought  beneath  the 
Expression  (you  can  call  it  what  you  like). 
Zola  in  literature,  Strauss  in  music,  the  French 
school  of  painting  —  these  reduced  Realism  ad 
abstirdum.  Thus  once  more  the  Catholic  Church, 
in  this  as  in  everything  else,  was  discovered  to 
have  possessed  the  secret  all  along.  The  Sym- 
bolic Reaction  therefore  began,  and  all  our  music, 
all  our  painting,  and  all  our  literature  to-day  are 
frankly  and  confessedly  Symbolic  —  that  is,  Catho- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  45 

lie.  And  this  too,  you  see,  pointed  to  the  same  les- 
son as  Psychology,  that  beneath  phenomena  there 
was  a  Force  which  transcended  phenomena;  and 
that  the  Church  had  dealt  with  this  Force,  knowing 
It  to  be  Personal,  through  all  her  history. 

"  Finally  —  and  this  was  the  crowning  argument 
of  all,  that  correlated  all  the  rest  —  there  was  the 
growing  scientific  and  popular  perception  of  the  Re- 
cuperative Power  of  the  Church  —  that  which  our 
Divine  Lord  Himself  called  the  Sign  of  the  Prophet 
Jonas,  or  Resurrection. 

"  There  were  of  course  countless  other  lines  of 
advance,  in  practically  every  science,  and  they  all 
pointed  in  the  same  direction,  and  met,  so  to  speak, 
from  every  quarter  of  the  compass  the  end  of  the 
tunnel  which  the  Church  had  been  boring  through 
all  the  heaped-up  stupidities  and  ignorances  of  man. 
Psychology  tunneled,  and  presently  heard  the  voices 
of  the  exorcists  and  the  echoes  of  Lourdes  through 
the  darkness.  Human  religions  tunneled  —  Hin- 
duism with  its  idea  of  a  Divine  Incarnation,  Bud- 
dhism with  its  coarse  apprehension  of  the  Eternal 
Peace  of  a  Beatific  Vision,  North  American  Re- 
ligion with  its  guesses  at  Sacramentalism,  Savage 
Religion  with  its  caricature  of  a  Bloody  Sacrifice; 
all  from  various  points ;  and  presently  heard  through 
the  tumult  the  historical  dogma  of  the  Incarnation 
of  Christ,  the  dogma  of  Eternal  Life,  the  Sacra- 


46  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

mental  System  and  the  Sacrifice  of  the  Cross  —  all 
proclaimed  in  one  coherent  and  perfectly  philo- 
sophical Creed.  Ideals  of  Social  Reform  met  with 
the  same  experiences.  The  Socialist  with  his  dream 
of  a  Divine  Society,  the  Anarchist  with  his  passion- 
ate nightmare  of  complete  individual  liberty,  both 
ran  up  together,  in  the  heart  of  the  black  darkness, 
against  the  vast  outline  of  a  Divine  Family  that 
was  a  fact  and  not  a  far-off  ambition  —  a  Family 
that  fell  in  Eden  and  became  a  competitive  State; 
a  Holy  Family  that  redeemed  Nazareth  and  all  the 
world ;  a  Catholic  Family  in  whom  was  neither  Jew 
nor  Greek,  nor  masters  against  men  —  in  whom  the 
doctrine  of  Vocation  secured  the  rights  and  the 
dignities  of  the  Society  on  one  side  and  the  Indi- 
vidual on  the  other.  Finally  Art,  wandering  hither 
and  thither  in  the  mazes  of  Realism,  saw  light 
ahead,  and  found  in  Catholic  Art  and  Symbolism 
the  secret  of  her  life. 

"  This,  then,  was  the  result  —  that  the  Church 
was  found  to  be  eternally  right  in  every  plane.  In 
plane  after  plane  she  had  been  condemned.  Pilate 
—  the  Law  of  Separate  Nations  —  had  found  her 
guilty  of  sedition;  Herod  —  the  miracle-monger  at 
one  instant  and  the  skeptic  at  the  next  —  the  Scien- 
tist, in  fact  —  had  declared  her  guilty  of  fraud; 
Caiaphas  had  condemned  her  in  the  name  of  Na- 
tional Religion.     Or,  again,  she  had  been  thought 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  47 

the  enemy  of  Art  b}-  the  Greek-spirited;  the  enemy 
of  Law  by  the  Latins;  the  enemy  of  ReHgion  by 
the  Hebraic  Pharisee.  She  had  borne  her  title 
written  in  Greek  and  Latin  and  Hebrew.  She  had 
been  crucified,  and  taunted  as  she  hung  there;  she 
had  seemed  to  die;  and,  lo  and  behold!  when  the 
Third  Day  dawned  she  was  alive  again  for  ever- 
more. From  every  single  point  she  had  been  jus- 
tified and  vindicated.  Men  had  thought  to  invent 
a  new  religion,  a  new  art,  a  new  social  order,  a 
new  philosophy;  they  had  burrowed  and  explored 
and  digged  in  every  direction ;  and,  at  the  end,  when 
they  had  worked  out  their  theories  and  found,  as 
they  thought,  the  reward  of  their  labors,  they  found 
themselves  looking  once  more  into  the  serene,  smil- 
ing face  of  Catholicism.  She  was  risen  from  the 
dead  once  more,  and  was  seen  to  be  the  Daughter 
of  God,  with  Power." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  There,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Manners,  dropping 
back  again  into  the  quiet  professor,  "  that,  I  think, 
in  a  few  words,  is  the  outline  for  which  Mon- 
signor  asked.  I  hope  I  have  not  detained  you  too 
long." 

"  It  is  the  most  extraordinary  story  I  have  ever 
heard,"   said   Monsignor    Masterman   ten   minutes 


48  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

later,  as  he  threw  himself  down  in  his  chair  up- 
stairs, with  Father  Jervis  sitting  opposite. 

"  Certainly  he  puts  it  very  well,"  said  the  old 
priest,  smiling.  "  I  think  every  one  was  interested. 
It's  not  often  that  we  can  hear  such  a  clear  analysis 
of  events.     Of  course  Manners  is  an  expert  — " 

''  But  the  amazing  thing  to  me,"  interrupted  the 
other,  "  is  that  this  isn't  just  a  dream  or  a  prophecy, 
but  a  relation  of  facts.  ...  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  the  whole  world  is  Christian  ?  " 

The  priest  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Monsignor,  surely  your  memory  isn't  — " 

Monsignor  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  it's  exactly  as  I  told  you  be- 
fore lunch.  I'll  promise  to  tell  you  if  my  memory 
comes  back.  At  present  I  remember  practically 
nothing  at  all,  except  instinctively.  All  I  know  is 
that  this  story  we  have  heard  simply  astounds  me. 
I  had  a  sort  of  idea  that  Christianity  was  ebbing 
from  the  world ;  that  most  thinking  men  had  given 
up  all  belief  in  it;  and  now  I  find  it's  exactly  the 
other  way.  Please  treat  me  as  if  I  had  stepped 
straight  out  of  the  beginning  of  the  century.  Just 
tell  me  the  facts  as  if  for  the  first  time.  Is  it  really 
true  that  practically  the  whole  world  is  Christian?  " 

The  priest  hesitated. 

"  You  mean  that,  Monsignor  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  49 

"  Very  well  then."  He  paused  again.  "  But  it's 
extraordinarily  hard  to  know  where  to  begin." 

'*  Begin  anywhere.     It's  all  new  to  me." 

"  Very  good.  Well,  yes :  roughly  we  may  say 
that  the  world  is  Christian,  in  the  same  sort  of  way, 
at  least,  in  which  Europe  was  Christian,  say  in 
the  twelfth  century.  There  are  survivals,  of 
course,  particularly  in  the  East,  where  large  districts 
still  cling  to  their  old  superstitions;  and  there  are 
even  eminent  men  here  and  there  who  are  not  ex- 
plicitly Catholics ;  but,  as  a  whole,  the  world  is  Chris- 
tian." 

"  Do  you  mean  Catholic  ?  " 

The  priest  stared  a  moment. 

*^  Why  yes.     What  else— ?" 

"All  right;  go  on." 

"  Well  then,  to  begin  with  England.  Catholi- 
cism is  not  yet  established  as  the  State  Religion; 
but  it'll  only  be  a  question  of  time,  and  it  may  be 
said  that  all  the  laws  are  Christian." 

"Divorce?" 

"  Divorce  was  abolished  thirty  years  ago,  and 
fornication  was  made  a  felony  ten  years  later,"  said 
the  priest  quietly.  "  Benefit  of  clergy  also  was  re- 
stored three  years  ago ;  and  we  have  our  own  courts 
for  heresy,  with  power  to  hand  over  convicted 
criminals  to  the  secular  arm." 


so  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Certainly.  It  has  been  in  force  now  for  three 
years." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  by  saying  that  the 
Church  isn't  established?" 

"I  mean  that  no  religious  test  is  demanded  of 
officers  of  state  and  that  bishops  and  abbots  have 
no  seat  in  Parliament.  It  was  the  enfranchisement 
of  women  that  turned  the  tide  once  and  for  all." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  all  women  have  the 
vote?" 

"  They  are  under  the  same  conditions  as  men. 
There's  a  severe  educational  test  now,  of  course. 
Not  more  than  about  one  in  seventy  adults  ever  get 
the  vote  at  all.  But  the  result  is  that  we're  gov- 
erned by  educated  persons." 

"  Stop.     Is  it  a  Monarchy?  " 

"  Certainly.  Edward  IX  —  a  young  man  —  is 
on  the  throne." 

"  Go  on." 

"  Christianity,  then,  holds  the  field.  Of  course 
there  are  infidels  left,  who  write  letters  to  the  news- 
papers sometimes,  and  hold  meetings,  and  so  on. 
But  they  are  practically  negligible.  As  regards 
Church  property,  practically  everything  has  finally 
been  given  back  to  us.  I  mean  in  the  way  of 
buildings,  and,  very  largely,  revenues  too.  All  the 
cathedrals  are  ours,  and  all  parish  churches  built  be- 
fore the  Reformation,  as  well  as  all  other  churches 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  51 

in  parishes  where  there  was  not  organized  Protes- 
tant resistance." 

"  I  thought  you  said  there  were  no  Protestants." 

Father  Jervis  suddenly  laughed  aloud. 

"  Monsignor,  are  you  really  serious  ?  Do  you 
really  mean  you  wish  me  to  go  on?  " 

"  Good  God,  man!  Fm  not  playing  a  game.  Go 
on,  please.     Tell  me  about  the  Protestants." 

"  Well,  of  course  there  are  some  Protestants  left. 
I  think  they've  got  four  or  five  churches  in  London, 
and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  yes,  Fm  sure  of  it, 
they've  got  some  kind  of  bishop.  But  really  I 
scarcely  know.     I  shall  have  to  look  it  up." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  Well,  that's  the  state  of  England.  Practically 
everybody  is  a  Catholic  —  from  the  King  down- 
wards. The  last  remains  of  Church  property  was 
only  actually  given  back  to  us  last  year.  That's 
why  the  monks  haven't  come  back  to  Westminster 
yet." 

"What  about  the  rest  of  the  world?  " 

"  Well,  first  Rome.  Austria  drove  out  the  House 
of  Savoy  nearly  twenty-five  years  ago;  and  the 
Holy  Father—" 

"What's  his  name?" 

"  Gregory  the  Nineteenth.  He's  a  Frenchman. 
Well,  the  Holy  Father  is  Temporal  Ruler  of  the 
whole  of  Italy;  but  the  Emperor  of  Austria  ad- 


52  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

ministers  it.  Then  France  is,  of  course,  a  very 
small  country." 

"Why  small?" 

"Well,  you  know  the  Emperor  War  of  1914?" 

Monsignor  interrupted  by  a  large  sigh. 

"  Good  heavens !  "  he  said.  "  How  I  shall  have 
to  read.     I'm  sorry.     Go  on,  please." 

"  Well,  France  is  a  very  small  country,  but  in- 
tensely Catholic.  The  Church  is  reestablished 
there." 

"  Is  it  a  monarchy  too  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  The  Orleans  line  came  back  after 
the  war.  Louis  XXII  is  king.  I  was  saying  that 
the  Church  is  reestablished  there,  and  is  practically 
supreme.  That  is  traceable  entirely  to  Pius  X's 
policy." 

"Pius  X!     Why—" 

"  Yes,  Monsignor." 

"  I  know  all  about  that.  But  I  thought  Pius  X 
simply  ruined  everything." 

"  So  they  said  at  the  time.  His  policy  was  to 
draw  the  lines  tight  and  to  make  no  concessions. 
He  drove  out  every  half-hearted  Catholic  by  his 
regulations,  and  the  result  was  a  small  but  extraor- 
dinarily pure  body.  The  result  has  been  that  the 
country  was  re-evangelized,  and  has  become  almost 
a  land  of  saints.     They  say  that  our  Lady  — " 

"  Well,  go  on  with  the  other  countries." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  53 

"  Spain  and  Portugal,  are,  of  course,  entirely 
Catholic,  like  France.  The  Monarchy  was  rees- 
tablished in  both  of  them  in  about  1935.  But  Ger- 
many —  Germany's  the  weak  spot." 

"Well?" 

"  You  see  the  Emperor  isn't  a  Christian  yet ;  and 
Socialism  lingers  on  there  with  extraordinary  per- 
tinacity. Practically  Berlin  is  the  Holy  City  of 
Freemasonry.  It's  all  organized  from  there  — 
such  as  it  is.  And  no  one  is  quite  comfortable 
about  Germany.  The  Emperor  Frederick  is  a  per- 
fectly sincere  man,  but  really  rather  uneducated; 
he  still  holds  on  to  some  sort  of  materialism;  and 
the  result  is — " 

"  I  see." 

"  But  there  are  hopes  of  his  conversion.  He's 
to  be  at  Versailles  next  week;  and  that's  a  good 
sign." 

*'  Well,  what  about  America?  " 

"  Oh !  America's  chiefly  English ;  and  very  like 
England." 

"  You  mean  she  isn't  republican?  " 

"  Of  course  not.     My  dear  Monsignor  — " 

"  Please  go  on,  as  I  asked  you.  Tell  me  when 
she  ceased  to  be  republican." 

**  Why,  I  scarcely  know,"  murmured  the  priest. 
"  It  must  have  been  about  1930,  I  suppose.  I  know 
there  was  a  lot  of  trouble  before  that  —  civil  wars 


54  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

and  so  forth.  But  at  any  rate  that  was  the  end. 
Japan  got  a  good  deal  of  the  Far  West;  but  the 
Eastern  States  came  in  with  Canada  and  formed 
the  American  Colonies;  and  the  South  of  course 
became  Latinized,  largely  through  ecclesiastical 
influence.  Well,  then  America  asked  Eng- 
land — " 

"  Stop,  please.  I  shall  get  bewildered.  What 
about  the  religion  ?  " 

"Well,  the  Empire  of  Mexico — " 

"Eh?'' 

"  The  Empire  of  Mexico." 

"  Who's  Emperor  ?  " 

"  The  King  of  Spain,  Monsignor,"  said  the  priest 
patiently.  "  Well,  that  used  to  be  called  South 
America.  It's  all  the  Empire  of  Mexico  now,  and 
belongs  to  Spain.  That's  solidly  Catholic,  of 
course.  And  the  American  Colonies  —  old  North 
America  —  that's  like  England.  It's  practically 
Catholic,  of  course;  but  there  are  a  few  infidels  and 
Socialists." 

"Australia?" 

"  Australia's  entirely  Irish,  and  Catholic." 

"And  Ireland  itself?" 

"  Oh !  Ireland  developed  enormously  as  soon  as 
she  had  gained  independence,  but  emigration  con- 
tinued, and  the  Irish  strength  really  lies  abroad. 
Then  an  odd  thing  happened.     Ireland  continued 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  55 

to  empty,  obeying  some  social  law  we  don't  even 
yet  understand  properly;  and  the  Religious  began 
to  get  possession  of  the  country  in  an  extraordinary 
way,  until  they  owned  all  the  large  estates,  and 
even  most  of  the  towns.  You  may  say  that  Ireland 
is  practically  one  Religious  Enclosure  now.  Of 
course  she's  a  part  of  the  British  Empire;  but  her 
real  social  life  lies  in  her  colonies.  Australia  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  Home  Rule  from  Ireland  about 
twenty-five  years  ago." 

Monsignor  pressed  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"  It  sounds  like  the  wildest  dream,"  he  said. 

"Hadn't  I  better  —  ?" 

"  No ;  go  on.  I  only  want  an  outline.  What 
about  the  East  ?  " 

"  Well,  old  superstitions  still  linger  on  in  the 
East,  especially  in  China.  But  the  end  is  quite  cer- 
tain.    It  is  simply  a  matter  of  time — " 

"  But  ...  but  I  don't  understand.  If  the 
whole  world  is  practically  Christian,  what  is  there 
left  to  do?" 

The  priest  smiled. 

"  Ah !  but  you  must  remember  Germany.  There 
are  great  forces  in  Germany.  It's  there  that  the 
danger  lies.  And  you  must  remember  too  that 
there  is  no  Universal  i\rbitrator  yet.  Nationalism 
is  still  pretty  strong.  There  might  easily  be  an- 
other big  European  war." 


S6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

''  Then  you  hope  — " 

"  Yes.  We're  all  working  for  the  recognition  of 
the  Pope  as  Universal  Arbitrator,  as  he  was  prac- 
tically in  Europe  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Of  course, 
as  soon  as  the  sovereigns  acknowledge  officially 
that  they  hold  all  their  rights  at  the  will  of  Rome, 
the  thing  will  be  done.  But  it's  not  done  yet,  ex- 
cept — " 

"Good  God!" 

**  Look  here,  Monsignor,  you've  had  enough," 
said  the  priest,  rising.  ''  Though  I  must  say  you 
have  followed  it  closely  enough.  Are  you  certain 
that  it  is  quite  new  to  you?  Don't  you  remem- 
ber—" 

"  It's  not  only  new ;  it's  inconceivable !  I  under- 
stand it  perfectly;  but — " 

"  Well,  you've  had  enough.  Now  what  about 
coming  to  see  the  Cardinal  ?  I  feel  sure  he'll  insist 
upon  your  taking  a  rest  instantly.  I  feel  rather 
guilty—" 

"  Stop.  Tell  me  about  languages.  Why  did  you 
talk  to  me  in  Latin  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Ecclesiastics  generally  do.  And  so  do  the  laity 
a  good  deal.  Europe  is  practically  bi-lingual. 
Each  country  keeps  up  its  own  tongue,  and  learns 
Latin  as  well.  You  must  rub  up  your  Latin,  Mon- 
signor." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  57 

*'  Wait  a  moment.  What  are  you  going  to  say 
to  the  Cardinal  ?  " 

"  Well,  hadn't  I  better  tell  him  the  whole  thing, 
just  as  it  happened?     Then  you  needn't  explain." 

The  other  pondered  a  moment. 

"  Thanks  very  much,  father.  .  .  .  Stop. 
Do  I  talk  English  all  right?" 

"  Perfectly." 

''  But  —  Oh  well.  .  .  .  And  I  ...  did 
I  do  all  right  at  lunch?  Did  any  one  suspect  any- 
thing?" 

"  You  did  perfectly.  You  seemed  a  little  absent- 
minded  once  or  twice;  but  that  was  quite  in  keep- 
ing." 

The  two  smiled  at  one  another  pleasantly. 

"  Then  Fll  be  going,"  said  the  priest.  "  Will  you 
wait  here  till  I  come  for  you  ?  " 


CHAPTER  III 
(I) 

J 


44  yUST  be  natural,"  whispered  Father  Jervis  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  later,  as  they  passed 
through  the  big  ante-room.  ''  You  needn't  explain 
a  word.     I've  told  him  everything." 

He  tapped ;  and  a  voice  answered. 

Sitting  in  a  big  armchair  drawn  up  to  the  writ- 
ing-table, the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory  saw  a 
tall,  thin  figure,  in  black  with  scarlet  buttons,  and 
a  small  scarlet  skull-cap  crowning  his  iron-gray  hair. 
It  was  a  little  hard  to  make  out  the  face  at  first,  as 
the  window  was  immediately  beyond  it;  but  he  saw 
almost  immediately  that,  although  the  face  smiled 
at  him  reassuringly  and  welcomingly,  it  was  entirely 
unfamiliar. 

The  Cardinal  stood  up  as  the  two  approached, 
pushing  back  his  chair,  and  held  out  both  his  hands. 

"  My  dear  Monsignor,"  he  said,  and  grasped  the 
other's  hands  firmly  and  kindly. 

"I  .  .  .  your  Eminence  .  .  ."  stam- 
mered the  man. 

58 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  59 

"  Now,  now ;  not  one  word  till  I've  done.  I've 
heard  everything.     Come  and  sit  down." 

He  led  him  to  a  chair  on  the  hearth-rug,  placed 
him  in  it,  and  himself  sat  down  in  his  own,  facing 
him.     The  priest  remained  standing. 

"  Now,  I'm  going  to  begin  with  an  order,  on  holy 
obedience,"  smiled  the  Cardinal.  "  You  and  Father 
jervis  —  if  the  doctor  approves  —  are  to  start  for  a 
little  European  tour  by  the  midnight  volor." 

"The     .     .     .?" 

"  The  volor,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "  It'll  do  you 
good.  Father  Jervis  will  undertake  all  responsibil- 
ity, and  you  needn't  worry  yourself  at  all.  I  shall 
telegraph  to  Versailles  in  my  own  name,  and  make 
one  or  two  arrangements,  and  a  couple  of  my 
servants  will  attend  you.  You  will  have  nothing 
to  do  but  get  better.  You  can't  be  spared.  It'll 
all  come  perfectly  right,  I  have  no  manner  of  doubt. 
Father  Jervis,  just  ask  the  doctor  to  step  here." 

The  Cardinal  talked  a  minute  or  two  longer,  still 
with  that  soothing,  peaceful  air ;  and  Monsignor,  as 
he  listened,  watched  the  priest  go  up  to  a  row  of 
black  boxes,  resembling  those  in  his  own  room,  and 
take  down  a  shutter  from  one  of  them.  He  then 
said  a  rapid  sentence  or  two  in  a  whisper,  reclosed 
the  shutter,  and  came  back. 

"  If  things  don't  clear  themselves,  you  will  just 
have  to  learn  your  business  over  again,  Monsignor," 


6o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

went  on  the  Cardinal,  still  smiling.  **  Father  Jervis 
has  told  me  how  well  you  did  at  lunch;  and  Mr. 
Manners  said  nothing,  except  that  you  were  a  very 
good  host  and  a  very  graceful  listener.  So  you 
need  not  fear  that  any  one  will  notice.  So  please 
put  out  of  your  mind  any  thought  that  any  one 
else  will  take  your  place  here.  I  shall  expect  you 
back  in  a  month  or  two,  and  not  a  soul  will  be  any 
the  wiser.  I  shall  just  let  it  be  known  that  you've 
gone  for  a  holiday.  You  have  always  worked  hard 
enough,  anyhow,  to  deserve  one." 

At  that  moment,  somewhere  out  of  the  air,  from 
the  direction  of  the  boxes  on  the  wall,  a  very  defer- 
ential, quiet  voice  uttered  a  few  words  in  Latin. 

The  Cardinal  nodded.  Father  Jervis  went  to  the 
door  and  opened  it,  and  there  came  through  a  man 
in  a  black  cloak,  resembling  a  gown,  followed  by  a 
servant  carrying  a  bag.  The  bag  was  set  down,  the 
servant  went  out,  and  the  doctor  came  forward  to 
kiss  the  Cardinal's  ring. 

"  I  want  you  just  to  examine  Monsignor  Master- 
man,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "  And,  doctor,  please  ob- 
serve absolute  silence  afterwards.  Just  say  that 
you  have  found  him  a  little  run  down." 

Monsignor  made  a  movement  to  stand  up,  but  the 
Cardinal  restrained  him. 

''Do  you  remember  this  gentleman?"  he  asked. 

Monsignor  stared  blankly  at  the  doctor. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  6i 

*'  I  have  never  seen  him  in  my  life,"  he  said. 

The  doctor  smiled,  simply  and  frankly. 

"Well,  well,  Monsignor,"  he  said. 

"  It  seems  just  a  loss  of  memory,"  went  on  the 
Cardinal.  "Just  tell  the  doctor  how  it  hap- 
pened." 

The  invalid  made  an  effort ;  he  shut  his  eyes  for 
an  instant  to  recover  himself;  and  then  he  related 
at  length  his  first  apparent  consciousness  in  Hyde 
Park,  and  all  that  had  followed.  Father  Jervis  put 
a  question  from  time  to  time,  which  he  answered 
quite  rationally;  and  at  the  close  the  doctor,  who 
was  sitting  opposite,  watching  every  movement  of 
his  face,  leaned  back,  smiling. 

"  Well,  Monsignor,"  he  said,  ''  it  seems  to  me  that 
your  memory  is  sufficiently  good.  Just  put 
another  question,  father  —  a  really  difficult  one  — 
about  something  that  has  happened  since  noon." 

"  Can  you  remember  the  points  of  Mr.  Manners' 
speech?  "  asked  the  priest  doubtfully. 

The  other  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Psychology,  Comparative  Religion,  the  Philoso- 
phy of  Evidence,  Pragmatism,  Art,  Politics,  and 
finally  Recuperation.     These  were  the — " 

"Now  that's  astonishing!"  said  the  priest.  "I 
could  only  remember  four  myself." 

"  When  did  you  see  the  Cardinal  last?  "  asked  the 
doctor  suddenly. 


52  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  I  have  never  seen  him  before,  to  my  knowl- 
edge/' faltered  the  sick  man. 

The  Cardinal  leaned  forward  and  patted  him 
gently  on  the  knee. 

''Never  mind,"  he  said.     "Then,  doctor—" 

"  Would  your  Eminence  put  a  question  to  him  on 
some  very  important  matter?  Something  that 
would  make  a  deep  impression  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  considered. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  ''  yes.  Do  you  remember  the 
message  brought  by  special  messenger  from  Wind- 
sor yesterday  evening  ?  " 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 

"  That'll  do,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Don't  attempt 
to  strain  yourself." 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  fetched  his  bag  and 
opened  it.  Out  of  it  he  took  an  instrument  faintly 
resembling  a  small  camera,  but  with  a  bundle  of 
minute  wires  of  some  very  pliable  material,  each 
ending  in  a  tiny  disk. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  is,  Monsignor?  "  asked 
the  doctor,  busying  himself  with  the  wires. 

*'  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Well,  well.  .  .  ,  Now,  Monsignor,  kindly 
loosen  your  waistcoat,  so  that  I  can  get  at  your 
breast  and  back." 

"  Is  it  a  stethoscope  ?  " 

"  Something  like  it,"  smiled  the  doctor.     "  But 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  63 

how  did  you  know  that  name?  Never  mind. 
Now  then,  please." 

He  placed  the  camera  affair  on  the  corner  of  the 
table  near  the  armchair;  and  then,  very  rapidly, 
began  to  affix  the  disks  —  it  seemed  by  some 
process  of  air-exhaustion  —  all  over  the  head, 
breast,  and  back  of  the  amazed  man.  No  sen- 
sation followed  this  at  all,  except  the  very  faint 
feeling  of  skin-contraction  at  each  point  of  con- 
tact. 

"  May  I  have  that  blind  down,  your  Eminence  ? 
.  .  .  Ah!  that's  better.  Now  then."  He  bent 
closely  over  the  square  box  on  the  table,  and  seemed 
to  peer  at  something  inside.  The  others  kept  si- 
lence. 

"Well?"  asked  the  Cardinal  at  last. 

"  Perfectly  satisfactory,  your  Eminence.  There 
is  a  very  faint  discoloration,  but  no  more  than  is 
usual  in  a  man  of  Monsignor's  temperament  at  any 
excitement.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  wrong, 
and  —  Monsignor,"  he  continued,  looking  straight 
at  the  wire-bedecked  invalid,  "  not  the  very  faintest 
indication  of  anything  even  approaching  insanity  or 
imbecility." 

The  man  who  had  lost  his  memory  drew  a  swift 
breath. 

''May  I  see,  doctor?"  asked  the  Cardinal 
suavely.  -  . 


64  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

''Certainly,  your  Eminence;  and  Monsignor  can 
look  himself,  if  he  likes." 

When  the  other  two  had  looked,  the  sick  man 
himself  was  given  the  box. 

"(Carefully  with  that  wire,  please.)  There!" 
said  the  doctor.     '*  Look  down  there." 

In  the  center  of  the  box,  shielded  by  a  little  plate 
of  glass,  there  appeared  a  small  semi-luminous 
globe.  This  globe  seemed  tinted  with  slightly 
wavering  colors,  in  which  a  grayish  blue  predom- 
inated ;  but,  almost  like  a  pulse,  there  moved  across 
it  from  time  to  time  a  very  pale  red  tint,  suffusing 
it,  and  then  dying  away  again. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  man  in  the  chair 
hoarsely,  lifting  his  head. 

"  That,  my  dear  Monsignor,"  explained  the  doc- 
tor carefully,  "  is  a  reflection  of  your  physical  con- 
dition. It  is  an  exceedingly  simple,  though  of 
course  very  delicate  instrument.  The  method  was 
discovered  — " 

"  Is  it  anything  to  do  with  magnetism?  " 

"  They  used  to  call  it  that,  I  think.  It's  got  sev- 
eral names  now.  All  mental  disturbance  has,  of 
course,  a  physical  side  to  it,  and  that  is  how  we 
are  able  to  record  it  physically.  It  was  discovered 
by  a  monk,  of  course." 

"  But     .     .     .     but  it's  marvelous." 

"  Everything    is    marvelous,     Monsignor.     Ccr- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  65 

tainly  this,  however,  caused  a  revolution.  It  be- 
came the  symbol  of  the  whole  modern  method  of 
medicine." 

*' What's  that?" 

The  doctor  laughed. 

"  That's  a  large  question,"  he  said. 

"But     .     .     .     but." 

"  Well,  in  a  word,  it's  the  old  system  turned  up- 
side down.  A  century  ago  when  a  man  was  ill 
they  began  by  doctoring  his  body.  Now,  when  a 
man's  ill,  they  begin  by  doctoring  his  mind.  You 
see  the  mind  is  much  more  the  man  than  the  body 
is,  as  Theology  always  taught  us.  Therefore  by 
dealing  with  the  mind  — " 

''  But  that's  Christian  Science !  " 

The  doctor  looked  bewildered. 

"  It  was  an  old  heresy,  doctor,"  put  in  the  Car- 
dinal, smiling,  "  that  denied  the  reality  of  matter. 
No,  Monsignor,  we  don't  deny  the  reality  of  mat- 
ter. It's  perfectly  real.  Only,  as  the  doctor  says, 
we  prefer  to  attack  the  real  root  of  the  disease, 
rather  than  its  physical  results.  We  still  use  drugs ; 
but  only  to  remove  painful  symptoms." 

"That  .  .  .  that  sounds  all  right,"  stam- 
mered the  man,  bewildered  by  the  simplicity  of  it. 
"  Then  .  .  .  then  do  you  mean,  your  Emi- 
nence, that  physical  diseases  are  located — ?  " 

"  There  are  no  physical  diseases  left,"  put  in  the 


66  THE  DAWN  OF  ALU 

doctor.  "  Of  course  there  are  accidents  and  exter- 
nal physical  injuries;  but  practically  all  the  rest 
have  disappeared.  Very  nearly  all  of  them  had 
their  seat  in  the  state  of  the  blood ;  and,  by  injection, 
the  blood  is  made  immune." 

"  But  .  .  .  but  ...  are  there  no  dis- 
eases then  ?  '* 

"  Why,  yes,  Monsignor,"  interrupted  the  Car- 
dinal, with  the  patient  air  of  one  talking  to  a  child ; 
"there  are  hundreds  of  those;  and  they  are  very 
real  indeed ;  but  they  are  almost  entirely  mental  — 
or  psychical,  as  some  call  them.  And  there  are 
specialists  on  all  of  these.  Bad  habits  of  thought, 
for  example,  always  set  up  some  kind  of  disease; 
and  there  are  hospitals  for  these ;  and  even  isolation 
homes." 

"  Forgive  me,  your  Eminence,"  put  in  the  doctor, 
with  a  certain  imperiousness,  "  but  I  think  we 
ought  not  to  talk  to  Monsignor  too  much  on  this 
subject.     May  I  put  a  question  or  two?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  doctor.  Certainly.  Put 
any  question  you  wish." 

The  doctor  sat  down  again. 

"  Have  you  been  in  the  habit  of  saying  Mass 
every  day,  Monsignor  ?  " 

"  I     ...     I  don't  know,"  said  the  invalid. 

"  Yes,  doctor,"  put  in  Father  Jervis. 

"  And  confession  once  a  week?  " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  67 

"  Twice  a  week,"  said  Father  Jervis.  ''  I  am 
Monsignor's  confessor." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  doctor.  "  For  the  pres- 
ent, as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  should  recommend 
confession  only  once  a  fortnight  as  a  general  rule. 
Mass  can  be  as  before.  Then  Monsignor  may  say 
half  of  his  office  every  day,  or  the  rosary;  but  not 
both.  And  no  other  devotions  of  any  kind,  except 
the  particular  Examen.  If  Monsignor  and  Father 
Jervis  both  consent,  I  should  like  the  Examen  to 
be  forwarded  to  a  priest-doctor  for  a  few  weeks." 

An  exclamation  broke  from  the  invalid. 

"Well,  Monsignor?" 

"  I  don't  understand.  What  are  you  talking 
about  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  leaned  forward. 

"  Monsignor,  listen  to  me.  In  those  cases  the 
doctor  always  gives  his  advice.  You  see  even  the 
sacraments  have  their  mental  side ;  and  on  this  men- 
tal side  the  doctor  speaks.  But  the  whole  decision 
rests  entirely  with  the  patient  and  his  confessor ;  or 
they  can  call  in  an  expert  priest-doctor.  Only  a 
priest  can  possibly  decide  finally  the  relations  be- 
tween the  grace  of  the  sacraments  and  their  purely 
mental  effect.  A  lay  doctor  only  recommends.  Are 
you  satisfied? " 

The  man  nodded.  It  seemed  very  simple,  so 
stated. 


68  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

''  For  the  rest,"  continued  the  doctor,  with  a  cer- 
tain statehness  of  manner,  "  I  order  a  complete 
change  of  scene.  This  must  be  for  a  fortnight  at 
least,  if  not  longer.  If  the  priest-doctor's  report 
—  to  whom  the  Examen  may  be  sent  —  is  not  satis- 
factory, it  will  have  to  be  for  longer.  The  patient 
must  engage  in  no  business  that  does  not  honestly 
interest  him." 

"  May  he  travel  to-night?  "  asked  the  Cardinal. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  the  doctor,  rising. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me?  "  asked  the  invalid 
hoarsely. 

"  It  is  a  small  mental  explosion,  that  has  affected 
a  certain  spot  in  the  brain.  There  is  not,  as  I  have 
said,  a  trace  of  insanity  or  of  loss  of  balance.  I 
cannot  promise  that  the  injury  will  be  repaired;  but 
defects  that  may  follow  from  this  can  easily  be 
remedied  by  study.  It  simply  depends  upon  your- 
self, Monsignor,  as  to  how  long  before  you  can  be 
at  your  post  again  here.  As  soon  as  you  have 
learned  the  threads  of  business,  you  will  be  able  to 
apply  yourself  as  before.  I  shall  look  for  a  report 
in  a  fortnight's  time  at  the  latest.  Good  day,  your 
Eminence." 

(n) 

The  clocks  of  London  were  all  striking  the  single 
stroke  of  midnight  as  the  two  priests  stood  on  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  69 

wind-sheltered  platform  of  the  volor,  waiting  for  the 
start. 

To  Monsignor  Masterman  the  scene  was  simply 
overwhelming.  There  was  hardly  a  detail  that  was 
not  new  and  unfamiliar.  From  where  he  stood 
on  the  upper  deck,  grasping  the  rail  before  him,  his 
eyes  looked  out  over  a  luminous  city  as  lovely  as 
fairyland.  There  were  no  chimneys,  of  course 
(these,  he  had  just  learnt,  had  altogether  disap- 
peared more  than  fifty  years  ago),  but  spires  and 
towers  and  pinnacles  rose  before  him  like  a  dream, 
glowing  against  the  dark  sky,  lit  by  the  soft  radi- 
ance of  the  streets  beneath.  To  the  right,  not  a 
hundred  yards  aw^ay,  rose  Saint  Edward's  tower, 
mellowed  now  to  clear  orange  by  the  lapse  of  three- 
quarters  of  a  century;  to  the  left  a  flight  of  build- 
ings, of  an  architectural  design  which  he  did  not 
understand,  but  which  gave  him  a  sense  of  extreme 
satisfaction;  in  front  towered  the  masses  of  Buck- 
ingham Palace  as  he  seemed  always  to  have  known 
it. 

The  platform  of  the  flying  ship  on  which  he  stood 
hung  in  dock  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high 
above  the  roads  beneath.  He  had  examined  the 
whole  vessel  just  now  from  stem  to  stern,  and  had 
found  it  vaguely  familiar;  he  determined  to  ex- 
amine it  again  presently.  There  was  no  gas-bag  to 
sustain  it  —  so  much  he  had  noticed  —  though  he 


70  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

could  not  say  whence  he  had  the  idea  that  gas-bags 
were  usual.  But  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  notion 
of  air-ships  did  carry  some  faint  association  to  his 
mind,  although  far  less  distinct  than  that  of  motor- 
cars and  even  trains.  He  had  inquired  of  his  com- 
panion an  hour  or  two  earlier  as  they  had  discussed 
their  journey  as  to  whether  they  would  not  go  by 
train  and  steamer,  and  had  received  the  answer  that 
these  were  never  used  except  for  very  short  jour- 
neys. 

Here,  then,  he  stood  and  stared. 

It  was  very  quiet  up  here;  but  he  listened  with 
considerable  curiosity  to  the  strange  humming 
sound  that  filled  the  air,  rising  and  falling,  as  of  a 
beehive.  At  first  he  thought  it  was  the  working 
of  engines  in  the  ship ;  but  he  presently  perceived  it 
to  be  the  noise  of  the  streets  rising  from  below ;  and 
it  was  then  that  he  saw  for  the  first  time  that  foot- 
passengers  were  almost  entirely  absent,  and  that 
practically  the  whole  roadway,  so  far  as  he  could 
make  out  from  the  high  elevation  at  which  he  stood, 
was  occupied  by  cars  of  all  descriptions  going  this 
way  and  that.  They  sounded  soft  horns  as  they 
went,  but  they  bore  no  lights,  for  the  streets  were 
as  light  as  day  with  a  radiance  that  seemed  to  fall 
from  beneath  the  eaves  of  all  the  buildings  that  lined 
them.  This  effect  of  lighting  had  a  curious  result 
of  making  the  city  look  as  if  it  were  seen  through. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  71 

glass  or  water  —  a  beautifully  finished,  clean  pic- 
ture, moving  within  itself  like  some  precise  and 
elaborate  mechanism. 

He  turned  round  at  a  touch  on  his  arm. 

"  You  would  like  to  see  the  start,  perhaps,"  said 
the  old  priest.  ''  We  are  a  little  late  to-night.  The 
country  mails  have  only  just  arrived.  But  we  shall 
be  off  directly  now.     Come  this  way." 

The  upper  deck,  as  the  two  turned  inwards,  pre- 
sented an  extremely  pleasant  and  comfortable  pic- 
ture. From  stem  to  stern  it  ran  clear,  set  out,  how- 
ever, with  groups  of  tables  and  chairs  clamped  to 
the  floor,  at  which  sat  a  dozen  parties  or  so,  settling 
themselves  down  comfortably.  There  were  no  fun- 
nels, no  bridge,  no  break  at  all  to  the  delightful 
vista.  The  whole  was  lighted  by  the  same  device  as 
were  the  streets,  for  round  the  upper  edges  of  the 
transparent  walls  that  held  out  the  wind  shone  a 
steady,  even  glow  from  invisible  lights. 

In  the  very  center  of  the  deck,  however,  was  a 
low  railing  that  protected  the  head  of  a  staircase, 
and  down  this  well  the  two  looked. 

"  Shall  I  explain?  "  asked  the  old  priest,  smiling. 
"  This  is  the  latest  model,  you  know.  It  has  not 
been  in  use  for  more  than  a  few  months." 

The  other  nodded. 

"  Tell  me  everything,  please." 

"  Well,  look  right  down  there,  below  the  second 


72  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

flight.  The  first  flight  leads  to  the  second-class 
deck,  and  the  flight  below  to  the  working  parts  of 
the  ship.  Now  do  you  see  that  man's  head,  straight 
in  the  middle,  in  the  bright  light  ?  —  yes,  immedi- 
ately under.  Well,  that's  the  first  engineer.  He's 
in  a  glass  compartment,  you  see,  and  can  look  down 
passages  in  every  direction.  The  gas  arrangements 
are  all  in  front  of  him,  and  the — " 

"  Stop,  please.  What  power  is  it  that  drives  the 
ship?     Is  it  lighter  than  air,  or  what?  " 

*'  Well,  you  see  the  entire  framework  of  the  ship 
is  hollow.  Every  single  thing  you  see  —  even  the 
chairs  and  tables  —  they're  all  made  of  the  metal 
aerolite  (as  it's  generally  called).  It's  almost  as 
thin  as  paper,  and  it's  far  stronger  than  any  steel. 
Now  it's  the  framework  of  the  ship  that  takes  the 
place  of  the  old  balloon.  It's  infinitely  safer,  too, 
for  it's  divided  by  automatically  closing  stops  into 
tens  of  thousands  of  compartments,  so  a  leak  here 
or  there  makes  practically  no  difference.  Well, 
when  the  ship's  at  rest,  as  it  is  now,  there's  simply 
air  in  all  these  tubes;  but  when  it's  going  to  start, 
there  is  forced  into  these  tubes,  from  the  magazine 
below,  the  most  volatile  gas  that  has  been  discov- 
ered—" 

"What's  it  called?" 

"  I  forget  the  real  name.  It's  generally  called 
Qerolifw.     Well,  this  is  forced  in,  until  the  specific 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  73 

gravity  of  the  whole  affair,  passengers  and  all,  is  as 
nearly  as  possible  the  same  as  the  specific  gravity  of 
the  air." 

'*  I  see.     Good  Lord,  how  simple !  " 

"  And  the  rest  is  done  with  planes  and  screws, 
driven  by  electricity.  The  tail  of  the  boat  is  a  re- 
cent development.  (You'll  see  it  when  we've  once 
started.)  It's  exactly  like  the  tail  of  a  bird,  and 
contracts  and  expands  in  every  direction.  Then 
besides  that  there  are  two  wings,  one  on  each  side, 
and  these  can  be  used,  if  necessary,  in  case  the 
screws  go  wrong,  as  propellers.  But  usually  they 
are  simply  for  balancing  and  gliding.  You  see, 
barring  collisions,  there's  hardly  the  possibility  of 
an  accident.  If  one  set  of  things  fails,  there's  al- 
ways something  else  to  take  its  place.  At  the  very 
worst,  we  can  but  be  blown  about  a  bit." 

''  But  it's  exactly  like  a  bird,  then." 

"  Of  course,  Monsignor,"  said  the  priest,  with 
twinkling  eyes,  "  it  isn't  likely  that  we  could  im- 
prove upon  Almighty  God's  design.  We're  very 
simple,  you  know.  Look,  he's  signaling.  We're 
going  to  start.  Come  to  the  prow.  We  shall  see 
better  from  there." 

The  upper  deck  ended  in  a  railing,  below  which 
protruded,  from  the  level  of  the  lower  deck,  the 
prow  proper  of  the  boat.  Upon  this  prow,  in  a 
small  compartment  of  which  the  roof,  as  well  as 


74  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  walls,  was  of  hardened  glass,  stood  the  steers- 
man amid  his  wheels.  But  the  wheels  were  unlike 
anything  that  the  bewildered  man  who  looked  down 
had  ever  dreamed  of.  First,  they  were  not  more 
than  six  inches  in  diameter;  and  next,  they  were 
arranged,  like  notes  on  a  key-board,  with  their  edges 
towards  him,  with  the  whole  set  curved  round  him 
in  a  semicircle. 

"  Those  to  right  and  left,"  explained  the  priest, 
''control  the  planes  on  either  side;  those  in  front, 
on  the  left,  control  the  engines  and  the  gas  supply; 
and  on  the  right,  the  tail  of  the  boat.  Watch  him, 
and  you'll  see.     We're  just  starting." 

As  he  spoke  three  bells  sounded  from  below,  fol- 
lowed, after  a  pause,  by  a  fourth.  The  steersman 
straightened  himself  as  the  first  rang  out  and 
glanced  round  him ;  and  upon  the  fourth,  bent  him- 
self suddenly  over  the  key-board,  like  a  musician 
addressing  himself  to  a  piano. 

For  the  first  instant  Monsignor  was  conscious  of 
a  slight  swaying  motion,  which  resolved  itself  pres- 
ently into  a  faint  sensation  of  constriction  on  his 
temples,  but  no  more.  Then  this  passed,  and  as 
he  glanced  away  again  from  the  steersman,  who 
was  erect  once  more,  his  look  happened  to  fall  over 
the  edge  of  the  boat.  He  grasped  his  friend  con- 
vulsively. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  75 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  what's  happened?  " 

''  Yes,  we're  off,"  said  the  priest  sedately. 

Beneath  them,  on  either  side,  there  now  stretched 
itself  an  almost  illimitable  and  amazingly  beautiful 
bird's-eye  view  of  a  lighted  city,  separated  from 
them  by  what  seemed  an  immeasurable  gulf.  From 
the  enormous  height  up  to  which  they  had  soared 
the  city  looked  like  a  complicated  flat  map,  of  which 
the  patches  were  dark  and  the  dividing  lines  rivers 
of  soft  fire.  This  stretched  practically  to  the  hori- 
zon on  all  sides ;  the  light  toned  down  at  the  edges 
into  a  misty  luminosity,  but  as  the  bewildered 
watcher  stared  in  front  of  him,  he  saw  how  directly 
in  their  course  there  slid  towards  them  two  great 
patches  of  dark,  divided  by  a  luminous  stream  in 
the  middle. 

"  What  is  it?     What  is  it?  "  he  stammered. 

The  priest  seemed  not  to  notice  his  agitation;  he 
just  passed  his  hand  quietly  into  the  trembling 
man's  elbow. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there  are  houses  all  the  way  to 
Brighton  now,  of  course,  and  we  go  straight  down 
the  track.  We  shall  take  in  passengers  at  Brighton, 
I  think.'' 

There  was  a  step  behind  them. 

"  Good  evening,  Monsignor,"  said  a  voice.  "  It's 
a  lovely  night." 


76  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

The  prelate  turned  round,  covered  with  con- 
fusion, and  saw  a  man  in  uniform  saluting  him 
deferentially. 

'*  Ah!  captain,"  slipped  in  the  priest.  ''  So  we're 
crossing  with  you,  are  w^e?  " 

"  That's  it,  father.  The  Michael  line's  running 
this  week." 

**  It's  a  wonderful  thing  to  me  — "  began  Mon- 
signor,  but  a  sharp  pressure  on  his  arm  checked 
him  — "  how  you  keep  the  whole  organization 
going,"  he  ended  lamely. 

The  captain  smiled. 

**  It's  pretty  straightforward,"  he  said.  **  The 
Michael  line  runs  the  first  week  of  every  month; 
the  Gabriel  the  second,  and  so  on." 

"Then-^" 

"  Yes,"  put  in  Father  Jervis.  "  Whose  idea  was 
it  to  dedicate  the  lines  to  the  archangels?  I  for- 
get." 

"  Ah !  that's  ancient  history  to  me,  father. 
.  .  .  Excuse  me,  Monsignor;  I  think  I  hear  my 
bell."     He  w^heeled,  saluting  again,  and  was  off. 

'*  Do  you  mean — ?"  began  Monsignor. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Father  Jervis,  *'  everything 
runs  on  those  lines  now.  You  see  we're  very  mat- 
ter-of-fact, and  it's  really  rather  obvious,  when  you 
think  of  it,  to  dedicate  the  volor  lines  to  the  angels. 
We've  been  becoming  more  and  more  obvious  for 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  j^ 

the  last  fifty  years.  ...  By  the  way,  Monsig- 
nor,  you  must  take  care  not  to  give  yourself  away. 
You'd  better  not  ask  many  questions  except  of 
me." 

Monsignor  changed  the  subject. 

"When  shall  we  get  to  Paris?"  he  asked. 

"We  shall  be  a  little  late,  I  think,  unless  they 
make  up  time.  We're  due  at  three.  I  hope  there 
won't  be  any  delay  at  Brighton.  Sometimes  on 
windy  nights  — " 

"  I  suppose  the  descending  and  the  starting  again 
take  some  time." 

The  priest  laughed. 

"  We  don't  descend  at  places  en  routed'  he  said. 
"  The  tender  comes  up  to  us.  It'll  probably  be  in 
its  place  by  now.     We  aren't  ten  minutes  away." 

The  other  compressed  his  lips  and  was  silent. 

Presently,  far  away  to  the  southward  beneath 
the  soft  starlit  sky,  the  luminous  road  down  which 
th€y  traveled  seemed  to  expand  once  more  almost 
abruptly  into  another  vast  spread  of  lights.  But  as 
they  approached  this  did  not  extend  any  farther, 
but  lay  cut  off  sharp  by  a  long,  curving  line  of  al- 
most complete  darkness. 

"Brighton  .  .  .  the  sea  .  .  .  and 
there's  the  tender  waiting." 

At  first  the  prelate  could  not  make  it  out  against 
the  radiance  below,  but  an  instant  later,  as  they 


78  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

rushed  on,  it  loomed  up,  sudden  and  enormous,  it- 
self blazing  with  lights  against  the  dark  sea.  It 
looked  to  him  something  like  a  floating  stage,  out- 
lined with  fire ;  and  there  were  glimmering,  perpen- 
dicular lines  beneath  it  which  he  could  not  under- 
stand, running  down  to  lose  themselves  in  the  misty 
glow  three  hundred  feet  beneath. 

"  How's  it  done?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  a  platform,  charged  of  course  with  aeroline. 
It  runs  on  lines  straight  up  from  the  stage  beneath, 
and  keeps  itself  steady  with  screws.  You'll  see  it 
go  down  after  we've  left  again.  Come  to  the  stern, 
we  shall  see  better  from  there." 

By  the  time  that  they  had  reached  the  other  end 
of  the  ship,  the  pace  had  rapidly  diminished  almost 
to  motionlessness ;  and  as  soon  as  Monsignor  could 
attend  again,  he  perceived  that  there  was  sliding  at 
a  footpace  past  their  starboard  side  the  edge  of  the 
huge  platform  that  he  had  seen  just  now  half  a 
mile  away.  For  a  moment  or  two  it  swayed  up  and 
down ;  there  was  a  slight  vibration ;  and  then  he 
heard  voices  and  the  tramping  of  footsteps. 

"  The  bridges  are  fixed,"  remarked  the  priest. 
"  They're  on  the  lower  deck,  of  course.  Pretty 
prompt,  aren't  they?" 

The  prelate  stood,  staring  with  all  his  eyes ;  now 
at  the  motionless  platform  that  hung  alongside,  now 
at  the  gulf  below  with  the  fairy  lights  strewed  like 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  79 

stars  and  neb  nice  at  its  bottom.  It  seemed  impossi- 
ble to  realize  that  this  station  in  the  air  was  not 
the  normal  level,  and  the  earth  not  a  strange  for- 
eign body  that  attended  on  it.  There  came  up  on 
deck  presently  a  dozen  figures  or  so,  carrying  wraps, 
and  talking.  It  was  amazing  to  him  that  they  could 
behave  with  such  composure.  Two  were  even 
quarreling  in  subdued  voices.     .     .     . 

It  was  hardly  five  minutes  before  the  three  bells 
rang  again;  and  before  the  fourth  sounded,  sud- 
denly he  saw  drop  beneath,  like  a  stone  into  a  pit, 
the  huge  immovable  platform  that  just  now  he  had 
conceived  of  as  solid  as  the  earth  from  which  it  had 
risen.  Down  and  down  it  went,  swaying  ever  so 
slightly  from  side  to  side,  diminishing  as  it  went; 
but  before  the  motion  had  ceased  the  fourth  bell 
rang,  and  he  clutched  the  rail  to  steady  himself  as 
the  ship  he  w^as  on  soared  again  with  a  strange  in- 
toxicating motion.  The  next  instant,  as  he  glanced 
over  the  edge,  he  saw  that  they  were  far  out  over  the 
blackness  of  the  sea. 

"  I  think  we  might  go  below  for  a  bit,"  said  the 
priest  in  his  ear. 

There  was  no  kind  of  difficulty  in  descending  the 
stairs;  there  was  practically  no  oscillation  of  any 
kind  in  this  still  and  windless  summer  night,  and 
the  two  came  down  easily  and  looked  round  the 
lower  deck. 


8o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

This  was  far  more  crowded  with  figures:  there 
w^ere  padded  seats  fully  occupied  running  round  all 
the  sides,  beneath  the  enormous  continuous  win- 
dows. In  the  center,  sternwards,  ran  a  narrow  re- 
freshment bar,  where  a  score  of  men  were  standing 
to  refresh  themselves.  Forward  of  the  farther  stairs 
(down  the  well  of  \vhich  they  had  seen  the  en- 
gineer's head),  by  which  they  were  standing,  the 
deck  was  closed  in,  as  with  cabins. 

'^  Like  to  see  the  shrine?  "  asked  Father  Jervis. 

"The  what?" 

"  Shrine.  The  long- journey  boats,  that  have 
chaplains,  carry  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  of  course; 
but  there  is  only  a  little  oratory  on  these  conti- 
nental lines." 

Monsignor  followed  him,  unable  to  speak,  up  the 
central  passage  running  forwards;  through  a  pair 
of  heavy  curtains;  and  there,  to  his  amazed  eyes, 
appeared  a  small  altar,  a  hanging  lamp,  and  an  image 
of  St.  Michael. 

"  But  it's  astounding !  "  whispered  the  prelate, 
watching  a  man  and  a  woman  at  their  prayers. 

"  It's  common  sense,  isn't  it?  "  smiled  the  priest. 
"  Why,  the  custom  began  a  hundred  years  ago." 

"No!" 

"  Indeed  it  did!  I  learnt  it  from  one  of  the  lit- 
tle guide-books  they  give  one  on  these  boats.  A 
company  called  the  Great  Western  had  mosaic  pic- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  8i 

tures  of  the  patron  saint  of  each  boat  in  the  saloon. 
And  their  locomotives,  too,  were  called  after  saints' 
names.  It's  only  plain  common  sense,  if  you  come 
to  think  of  it." 

"  Are  lines  like  this  —  and  railways,  and  so  on 
—  owned  by  the  State  now?     I  suppose  so." 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  That  was  tried  under  Socialism,"  he  said.  "  It 
was  one  of  their  smaller  failures.  You  see,  when 
competition  ceases,  effort  ceases.  Human  nature  is 
human  nature,  after  all.  The  Socialists  forgot  that. 
No;  we  encourage  private  enterprise  as  much  as 
possible,  under  State  restrictions." 

They  paused  as  they  came  out  again. 

**  Care  to  lie  down  for  a  bit  ?  We  shan't  be  in 
till  three.     The  Cardinal  engaged  a  room  for  us." 

He  indicated  a  small  cabin  that  bore  his  own 
name  on  a  card. 

Monsignor  paused. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  I  think.     I've  a  lot  to  think  about." 

But  he  could  not  sleep.  The  priest  promised  to 
awaken  him  in  plenty  of  time,  and  he  sHpped  off 
his  buckled  shoes  and  tried  to  compose  his  mind. 
But  it  was  useless.  His  mind  whirled  with  won- 
der. 

Once  he  slipped  to  a  sitting  position,  drew  back 
the  little  curtain  over  the  porthole,  and  stared  out. 
There  was  little  to  be  seen;  but  by  the  sight  of  a 


82  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

lake  of  soft  light  that  slid  past  at  some  incalculable 
depth  a  dozen  miles  away,  he  perceived  that  they 
had  left  the  sea  far  behind  and  were  spinning  over 
the  land  of  France.  He  looked  out  long,  revolving 
thoughts  and  conjectures,  striving  to  find  some  glim- 
mer of  memory  by  w^hich  he  might  adjust  these  new 
experiences;  but  there  was  none.  He  was  like  a 
child,  with  the  brain  of  a  man,  plunged  into  a  new 
mode  of  existence,  where  everything  seemed  re- 
versed, and  yet  astonishingly  obvious;  it  was  the 
very  simplicity  that  baffled  him.  The  Christian  re- 
ligion was  true  down  (or  up)  even  to  the  arch- 
angels that  stand  before  God  and  control  the  powers 
of  the  air. 

The  priesthood  was  the  priesthood;  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  was  the  God-Man  tabernacling  with  men. 
Then  where  was  the  cause  for  amazement  that  the 
world  recognized  these  facts  and  acted  upon  them; 
that  men  should  salute  the  priest  of  God  as  His  rep- 
resentative and  agent  on  earth;  that  air-ships  (them- 
selves constructed  on  the  model  of  the  sea-gull  — 
hollow  feathers  and  all)  should  carry  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  on  long  journeys,  that  communicants 
might  not  be  deprived  of  their  Daily  Bread,  and  even 
raise  altars  on  board  to  the  honor  of  those  Powers 
under  whose  protection  they  placed  themselves.  It 
was  curious,  too,  he  reflected,  that  those  who  insist 
most  upon  the  claims  of  Divinity  insist  also  upon 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  83 

the  claims  of  humanity.  It  seemed  suggestive  that 
it  was  the  Catholics  v/ho  were  most  aware  of  the 
competitive  passions  of  men  and  reckoned  with 
them,  while  the  Socialists  ignored  them  and  failed. 

So  he  sat  —  this  poor  man  bewildered  by  sim- 
plicity and  almost  shocked  by  the  obvious  —  listen- 
ing with  unheeding  ears  to  the  steady  rush  of  air 
past  the  ship,  voices  talking  naturally  and  easily, 
heard  through  the  roof  above  his  head,  an  occa- 
sional footstep,  and  once  or  twice  a  bell  as  the 
steersman  communicated  some  message  to  one  of 
his  subordinates.  Here  he  sat — ^John  Masterman, 
Domestic  Prelate  to  His  Holiness  Gregory  XXH, 
Secretary  to  His  Eminence  Gabriel  Cardinal  Bel- 
lairs,  and  priest  of  the  Holy  Roman  Church,  trying 
to  assimilate  the  fact  that  he  was  on  an  air-ship, 
bound  to  the  court  of  the  Catholic  French  King, 
and  that  practically  the  whole  civilized  world  be- 
lieved and  acted  on  the  behef  that  he,  as  a  priest, 
naturally  also  had  taught  and  was  accustomed  to 
teach. 

A  tap  on  his  door  roused  him  at  last. 

"  It's  time  to  be  moving,  Monsignor,"  said  Father 
Jervis  through  the  half-open  door.  ''We're  in 
communication  with  St.  Germain." 


CHAPTER  IV 

(I) 

CC'TpELL  me  a  little  about  the  costumes,"  said 
**■  Monsignor,  as  the  two  set  out  on  foot  from 
their  lodgings  in  Versailles  after  breakfast  next 
morning,  to  present  their  letters  of  introduction. 
**  They  seem  to  me  rather  fantastic,  somehow." 

Their  lodgings  were  situated  in  one  of  the  great 
palaces  on  the  vast  road  that  runs  straight  from  the 
gates  of  the  royal  palace  itself  into  Paris.  They 
had  come  straight  on  by  car  from  St.  Germain,  had 
been  received  with  immense  respect  by  the  proprie- 
tor, w4io,  it  appeared,  had  received  very  particular 
instructions  from  the  English  Cardinal;  and  had 
been  conducted  straight  upstairs  to  a  little  suite  of 
rooms,  decorated  in  eighteenth-century  fashion,  and 
consisting  of  a  couple  of  bedrooms  for  themselves, 
opening  to  a  central  sitting-room  and  oratory;  the 
two  men-servants  they  had  brought  with  them  were 
lodged  immediately  across  the  landing  outside. 

"Fantastic?"  asked  Father  Jervis,  smiling. 
"  Don't  you  think  they're  attractive  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  but— " 

84 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  85 

"Remember  human  nature,  Monsignor.  After 
all,  it  was  only  intense  self-importance  that  used  to 
make  men  say  that  they  were  independent  of  ex- 
terior beauty.  It's  far  more  natural  and  simple  to 
like  beauty.     Every  child  does,  after  all." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  see  that,  I  suppose.  But  I  didn't 
mean  only  that.  I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  you 
yesterday,  again  and  again,  but  something  marvel- 
ous distracted  me  each  time,"  said  the  prelate,  smil- 
ing. "  They're  extraordinarily  picturesque,  of 
course ;  but  I  can't  help  thinking  that  they  must  all 
mean  something." 

''  Of  course  they  do.  And  I  never  can  imagine 
how  people  ever  got  on  without  the  system.  Why, 
even  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  I  understand 
that  every  one  dressed,  or  tried  to  dress  alike.  How 
in  the  world  could  they  tell  who  they  were  talking 
to?" 

"  I  ...  I  expect  that  was  deliberate,"  fal- 
tered the  other.  "  You  see,  I  think  people  used  to 
be  ashamed  of  their  trades  sometimes,  and  wanted 
to  be  thought  gentlemen." 

Father  Jervis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Well,  I  don't  understand  it,"  he  said.  "If  a 
man  was  ashamed  of  his  trade,  why  did  he  follow 
it?" 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  said  Monsignor  animatedly, 
"that  perhaps  it's  the  new  teaching  on  Vocation 


86  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

that  has  made  the  difference.  Once  a  man  under- 
stands that  his  vocation  is  the  most  honorable  thing 
he  can  do,  I  suppose —  There!  who's  that  man," 
he  interrupted  suddenly,  "  in  blue  with  the 
badge?" 

A  tremendous  figure  was  crossing  the  road  just 
in  front  of  them.  He  wore  a  short,  full  blue  cloak, 
with  a  silver  badge  on  the  left  breast,  a  tight-fitting 
cap  of  the  same  color  repeating  the  same  badge  and, 
from  beneath  his  cloak  in  front  hung  a  tunic,  with 
enormous  legs  in  tight  blue  hose  and  shoes  moving 
underneath. 

"  Ah !  that's  a  great  man,"  said  the  priest.  ''  He's 
a  butcher,  of  course  — " 

"A  butcher!" 

"  Yes ;  that's  obvious  —  it's  the  blue,  for  one 
thing,  and  the  cut,  for  another.  Wait  an  instant. 
I  shall  see  his  badge  directly." 

As  the  great  man  came  past  them  he  saluted 
deferentially.  The  priests  bowed  with  equal  defer- 
ence, lifting  their  hands  to  their  broad-leaved  hats. 

"  Yes :  he's  very  high  up,"  said  the  priest  quietly. 
**  A  member  of  the  Council  of  the  National  Guild, 
at  least." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  man  kills  oxen?  " 

"  Not  now,  of  course ;  he's  worked  his  way  up. 
He  probably  represents  the  Guild  in  the  Assem- 
bly." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  87 

"  Do  all  the  trades  have  guilds,  and  are  they  all 
represented  in  the  Assembly?" 

"Why  of  course!  How  else  could  you  be  cer- 
tain that  the  trade  was  treated  fairly?  If  all  the 
citizens  voted  as  citizens,  there's  simply  no  fair  rep- 
resentation at  all.  Look ;  there's  a  goldsmith  — 
he  has  probably  been  to  the  King;  that's  a  journey- 
man with  him." 

An  open  car  sped  past  them.  Two  men  were 
seated  in  it;  both  in  clothes  of  some  really  beautiful 
metallic  color;  but  the  cap  of  one  was  plain,  while 
the  cap  of  the  other  blazed  with  some  device. 

"  And  the  women  ?  I  can't  see  any  system  among 
them." 

''  Ah !  but  there  is,  though  it  is  harder  to  detect. 
They  have  much  more  liberty  than  the  men;  but, 
as  a  rule,  each  woman  has  as  a  predominating  color 
the  color  of  the  head  of  her  family,  and  all,  of 
course,  wear  badges.  There  are  sumptuary  laws,  I 
needn't  say." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  guessed  it !  " 

"  Well,  not  as  regards  price  or  material,  cer- 
tainly —  only  size.  There  are  certain  absolute  lim- 
its on  both  sides ;  and  fashions  have  to  manage  be- 
tween the  two.  You  see  it's  the  same  thing  as  in 
trades  and  professions,  as  I  told  you  yesterday. 
We  encourage  the  individual  to  be  as  individualistic 
as  possible,  and  draw  the  limits  very  widely,  beyond 


S8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

which  he  mustn't  go.  But  those  limits  are  impera- 
tive. We  try  to  develop  both  extremes  at  once  — 
liberty  and  law.  We  had  enough  of  the  zna  media 
—  the  mediocrity  of  the  average  —  under  Social- 
ism." 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  people  submit  to 
all  this?" 

''Submit!  Why  it's  perfectly  obvious  to  every 
one  that  it's  simply  human  —  besides  being  very 
convenient  practically.  Of  course  in  Germany  they 
still  go  in  for  what  they  call  Liberty ;  and  the  result 
is  simple  chaos." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  there's  no  envy  or  jealousy 
between  the  trades?" 

**  Not  in  the  social  sense,  in  the  very  least,  though 
there's  tremendous  competition.  Why,  every  one 
under  Royalty  has  to  be  a  member  of  some  trade. 
Of  course  only  those  who  practice  the  trade  wear 
the  full  costume;  but  even  the  dukes  have  to  wear 
the  badges.     It's  perfectly  simple,  you  know." 

"  Tell  me  an  English  duke  who's  a  butcher." 

"Butcher?  ...  I  can't  think  of  one  this 
minute.  Southminster's  a  baker,  though."  Mon- 
signor  was  silent.     But  it  certainly  seemed  simple. 

They  were  passing  up  now  between  the  sentr>^- 
guarded  gates  of  the  enormous  and  exquisite  palace 
of  Versailles;  and  beyond  the  great  expanse  of 
gravel  on  which  they  had  just  set  foot  rose  up  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  89 

myriad  windows,  pinnacles,  and  walls  where  the 
Kings  of  France  lived  again  as  they  had  lived  two 
hundred  years  before.  Far  up  against  the  tender 
summer  sky  flapped  the  Royal  Standard;  and  the 
lilies  of  France,  once  more  on  their  blue  ground, 
indicated  that  the  King  was  in  residence.  Even  as 
they  looked,  however,  the  banner  seemed  to  waver 
a  little;  and  simultaneously  a  sudden  ringing  sound 
from  a  shadowed  portico  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
away  brought  Father  Jervis  to  a  sudden  stop. 

''We'd  better  step  aside,"  he  said.  ''We're 
right  in  the  way." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Someone's  coming  out.     Look." 

From  out  of  the  shadow  into  the  full  sunlight 
with  a  flash  of  silver  lightning  whirled  a  body  of 
cuirassiers,  wheeled  into  line,  and  came  on,  re-form- 
ing as  they  came,  at  a  canter. 

A  couple  of  heralds  rode  in  front;  and  a  long 
trumpet-cry  pealed  out,  was  caught,  echoed,  and 
thrown  back  by  the  crowding  walls  of  the  palace. 

Behind,  as  Father  Jervis  drew  him  to  one  side, 
Monsignor  caught  a  glimpse  of  white  horses  and  a 
gleam  of  gold.  He  glanced  hastily  back  at  the  gates 
through  which  they  had  just  come,  and,  as  if  sprung 
out  of  the  ground,  there  was  the  crowd  standing 
respectfully  on  either  side  of  the  avenue  to  see  its 
Sovereign.       (It  was  up  this  avenue  to  Paris,  Mon- 


90  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

signer  reflected,  that  the  women  had  come  on  their 
appalling  march  to  the  Queen  who  ruled  them  then. ) 

As  he  glanced  back  again  the  heralds  were  upon 
them,  and  the  thunder  of  hoofs  followed  close  be- 
hind. But  beyond  the  line  of  galloping  guards,  in 
the  midst,  drawn  by  white  horses,  ran  the  great 
gilded  coach  with  glass  windows,  and  the  crown  of 
France  atop. 

Two  men  were  seated  in  the  coach,  bowing  me- 
chanically as  they  came  —  one  a  small,  young,  vi- 
vacious-looking man  with  a  pointed  dark  beard; 
the  other  a  heavy,  fair-haired,  sanguine-featured, 
clean-shaven  man.  Both  alike  were  in  robes  in 
which  red  and  gold  predominated;  and  both  wore 
broad  feathered  hats,  shaped  like  a  priest's. 

Then  the  coach  was  gone  through  the  tall  gilded 
gates,  and  a  cloud  of  dust,  beaten  up  by  the  gal- 
loping hoofs  on  all  sides,  hid  even  the  cuirassiers 
who  closed  the  company. 

"  The  King  and  the  German  Emperor,"  observed 
Father  Jervis,  replacing  his  hat.  ''  Now  there's  the 
other  side  of  the  picture  for  you." 

''I  don't  understand." 

"  Why,  we  treat  our  kings  like  kings,"  smiled 
the  other.  "  And,  at  the  same  time,  we  encourage 
our  butchers  to  be  really  butchers  and  to  glory  in 
it.  Law  and  liberty,  you  see.  Absolute  discipline 
and   the   cultivation  of  individualism.     No   repub- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  91 

lican  stew-pot,  you  see,  in  which  everything  tastes 
aHke." 

(n) 

They  had  to  wait  a  few  minutes  in  an  ante-room 
before  presenting  their  letters,  as  the  official  was 
engaged,  and  Father  Jervis  occupied  the  time  in  run- 
ning over  again  the  names  and  histories  of  three  or 
four  important  personages  to  whom  they  would 
probably  have  to  speak.  He  had  given  an  outline 
of  these  at  breakfast. 

There  were  three  in  particular  about  whom  Mon- 
signor  must  be  informed. 

First,  the   King;  and  Monsignor  learned  again 
thoroughly  of  the  sensational  reaction  which,  after 
the  humiliation  of  France  in  the  war  of   1914  — 
the  logical  result  of  a  conflict  between  a  republican- 
ism worked  out  to  mediocrity  and  a  real  and  vivid 
monarchy  —  had  placed  this  man's  father  —  the  un- 
doubted   legitimate   heir  — upon    the   throne.     He 
had  died  only  two  years  ago,  when  the  Dauphin, 
who  had  ascended  the  throne,  was  only  eighteen 
years  old.     The  present  King  was  not  yet  married, 
but  there  were  rumors  of  a  love-match  with  a  Span- 
ish princess.     He  was  a  boyish  king,  it  seemed,  but 
he  played  his  royal  part  with  intense  enjoyment  and 
dignity,  and  had  restored,  to  the  delight  of  this  es- 
sentially romantic  and  imaginative  people,  most  of 
7 


92  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  glories  of  the  eighteenth-century  court,  without 
its  scandals.  Certainly  France  was  returning  to  its 
old  chivalry,  and  thence  to  its  old  power. 

Next  there  was  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
Monsignor  Guinet,  a  very  old  ecclesiastic,  very  high 
in  the  counsels  of  the  Church,  who  would  almost 
certainly  have  been  elected  Pope  at  the  last  vacancy 
if  it  had  not  been  for  his  age.  He  was  an  "  intel- 
lectual," it  seemed,  and,  among  other  things,  was 
one  of  the  first  physicists  of  Europe.  He  had  been 
ordained  comparatively  late  in  life. 

Thirdly  there  was  the  Archbishop's  secretary  — 
Monsignor  Allet  —  a  rising  man  and  an  excellent 
diplomatist. 

There  were  two  or  three  more,  but  Father  Jervis 
was  content  with  scarcely  more  than  recounting 
their  names.  The  King's  brother,  and  the  heir- 
presumptive,  was  something  of  a  recluse  and  sel- 
dom appeared  at  court.  Of  the  German  Emperor, 
Monsignor  had  already  learned,  it  seemed,  suffi- 
cient. 

In  the  middle  of  these  instructions,  the  door  sud- 
denly opened,  and  an  ecclesiastic  hurried  in  with 
outstretched  hands,  and  apologies  in  a  torrent  of 
Latin. 

("  Monsignor  Allet,'^  whispered  Father  Jervis,  as 
he  appeared.) 

Monsignor   Masterman   stood   bewildered.     The 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  93 

dilemma  had  not  occurred  to  him ;  but  Father  Jervis, 
it  seemed,  was  prepared.  He  said  a  rapid  sentence 
to  the  secretary,  who  turned,  bowing,  and  immedi- 
ately began  in  English  without  the  trace  of  any  ac- 
cent. 

''I  perfectly  understand  —  perfectly  indeed. 
These  doctors  rule  us  with  a  rod  of  iron,  don't 
they  ?  It'll  be  arranged  directly.  We  all  talk  Eng- 
lish here;  and  I'll  say  a  word  to  His  Eminence. 
The  very  same  thing  happened  to  himself  a  year  or 
two  back.  He  was  forbidden  to  talk  in  French.  It 
is  astonishing,  is  it  not?  the  subtlety  of  those  doc- 
tors! And  yet  how  natural.  No  two  languages 
have  the  same  mental  reaction,  after  all.  They're 
perfectly  right." 

Monsignor  caught  a  glimmering  of  what  he  was 
at.     But  he  thought  he  had  better  be  cautious. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  give  a  lot  of  trouble,"  he 
murmured,  looking  doubtfully  at  this  sparkling- 
eyed,  blue-chinned  young  man,  who  spoke  with  such 
rapidity. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  I  assure  you."  He  turned  to 
the  older  priest.  "  The  Cardinal  left  here  only  half 
an  hour  ago.  How  unfortunate !  He  came  over  to 
arrange  the  final  details  of  the  disputation.  You've 
heard  of  that?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

The  young  prelate  beamed. 


94  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Well,  you'll  hear  the  finest  wit  in  France !  It's 
for  this  afternoon."  (His  face  fell.)  "But  it's 
Latin.     Perhaps  Monsignor  might  not — " 

"Ah!  So  long  as  he  doesn't  talk!"  (Father 
Jervis  turned  to  his  friend. )  "I  was  telling  Mon- 
signor here  that  the  doctor  ordered  you  to  engage 
in  no  business  that  did  not  interest  you;  and  that 
Latin  was  rather  a  strain  to  you  just  now  — ■" 

This  seemed  adroit  enough.  But  Monsignor  was 
determined  to  miss  no  new  experience. 

"  It  will  simply  delight  me,"  he  said.  "  And 
what  is  the  subject  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Frenchman,  "  it's  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Emperor.  Two  of  the  Parisian  theologians 
are  disputing  De  Ecclesia.  The  thesis  of  the  ad- 
versary, who  opens,  is  that  the  Church  is  merely 
the  representative  of  God  on  earth  —  a  society  that 
must,  of  course,  be  obeyed;  but  that  infallibility  is 
not  necessary  to  her  efficiency." 

Father  Jervis'  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Isn't  that  a  little  too  pointed  ?  Why,  that's  the 
Emperor's  one  difficulty !  I  understand  that  he  al- 
lows, politically  speaking,  the  need  for  the  Church, 
but  denies  her  divinity." 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  the  French  priest  solemnly, 
"  that  the  thesis  is  his  owm  selection.  You  see,  he's 
sick  of  these  Socialists.  He  understands  perfectly 
that  the  one  sanction  of  human  authority  must  come 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  95 

from  God,  or  from  the  people ;  and  he's  entirely  on 
God's  side!  But  he  cannot  see  the  infallibility,  and 
therefore,  as  he's  a  sincere  man  — !"  He  ended 
with  an  eloquent  shrug. 

"  Well,"  said  Father  Jervis,  *'  if  the  Cardinal's 
not  here — " 

"  Alas !  he  is  back  in  Paris  by  now.  But  give  me 
your  letters!  Til  see  that  they  are  presented  prop- 
erly ;  and  you  shall  receive  a  royal  command  for  the 
disputation  in  plenty  of  time." 

They  handed  over  their  letters;  they  exchanged 
compliments  once  more;  they  were  escorted  as  far 
as  the  door  of  the  room  by  the  prelate,  across  the 
next  ante-chamber  by  an  imposing  man  in  black 
velvet  with  a  chain,  across  the  third  by  a  cuirassier, 
and  across  the  hall  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps  by  two 
tremendous  footmen  in  the  ancient  royal  livery. 

Monsignor  was  silent  for  a  few  yards. 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  an  anti-clerical  reaction?  " 
he  asked  suddenly. 

"How  do  you  mean?     I  don't  understand." 

Then  Monsignor  launched  out.  He  had  accepted 
by  now  the  theory  that  he  had  had  a  lapse  of  mem- 
ory, and  that  so  far  as  his  intellect  was  concerned, 
he  was  practically  a  man  of  a  century  ago,  owing 
to  the  history  he  had  happened  to  be  reading  shortly 
before  his  collapse;  and  he  talked  therefore  from 
that  standpoint. 


96  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  produced,  that  is  to  say,  with  astonishing 
fluency  all  those  arguments  that  were  common  in 
the  mouths  of  the  more  serious  anti-clericals  of  the 
beginning  of  the  century  —  the  increase  of  Re- 
ligious Orders,  the  domineering  tendency  of  all  ec- 
clesiastics in  the  enjoyment  of  temporal  power,  the 
impossibility  of  combating  supernatural  arguments, 
the  hostility  of  the  Church  to  education  —  down 
even  to  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy.  He  paused  for 
breath  as  they  turned  out  of  the  great  gateway. 

Father  Jervis  laughed  aloud  and  patted  him  on 
the  arm. 

*'  My  dear  Monsignor,  I  can't  compete  with  you. 
You're  too  eloquent.  Of  course,  I  remember  from 
reading  history  that  those  things  used  to  be  said, 
and  I  suppose  Socialists  say  them  now.  But,  you 
know,  no  educated  man  ever  dreams  of  such  argu- 
ments; nor  indeed  do  the  uneducated!  It's  the 
half -educated,  as  usual,  who's  the  enemy.  He  al- 
ways is.  The  Wise  Men  and  the  shepherds  both 
knelt  in  Bethlehem.  It  was  the  bourgeois  who 
stood  apart." 

"  That's  no  answer,'*  persisted  the  other. 

"  Well,  let's  see,"  said  the  priest  good-humoredly. 
"  We'll  begin  with  celibacy.  Now  it's  perfectly  true 
that  it's  thought  almost  a  disgrace  for  a  man  not  to 
have  a  large  family.     The  average  is  certainly  not 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  97 

less  than  ten  in  civilized  nations.     But  for  all  that 
a  priest  is  looked  upon  without  any  contempt  at  all. 
Why  ?     Because  he's  a  spiritual  father ;  because  he 
begets  spiritual  children  to  God,  and  feeds  and  nour- 
ishes them.     Of  course  to  an  atheist  this  is  non- 
sense; and  even  to  an  agnostic  it's  a  very  doubtful 
benefit.     But,  my  dear  Monsignor,  you  must  re- 
member that  these  hardly  exist  amongst  us.     The 
entire  civilized  world  of  to-day  is  as  absolutely  con- 
vinced of  Heaven  and  Grace  and  the  Church,  and 
the  havoc  that  Sin  makes  not  only  as  regards  the 
next  world  but  in  this  — so  absolutely  convinced 
that  he  understands  perfectly  that  a  priest  is  far 
more  productive  of  general  good  than  a  physical 
father  possibly  can  be.     It's  the  priest  who  keeps 
the  whole  thing  going.     Don't  you  see  ?     And  then, 
in  a  Catholic  world,  the  instinct  that  the  man  who 
serves  the  altar  should  be  without  physical  ties  — 
well,  that's  simply  natural." 

"  Go  on.  What  about  education?  " 
"My  dear  friend,"  said  Father  Jervis.  ''The 
Church  controls  the  whole  of  education,  as  she  did, 
in  fact,  up  to  the  very  time  when  the  State  first  took 
it  away  from  her  and  then  abused  her  for  neglect- 
ing it.  Practically  all  the  scientists ;  all  the  special- 
ists in  medicine,  chemistry,  and  mental  health ;  nine- 
tenths  of  the  musicians ;  three-quartexs  of  the  artists 


98  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

—  practically  all  those  are  religious.  It's  only  the 
active  trades,  which  are  incompatible  with  religion, 
that  are  in  the  hands  of  the  laity.  It's  been  found 
by  experience  that  no  really  fine  work  can  be  done 
except  by  those  who  are  familiar  with  divine  things ; 
because  it's  only  those  who  see  things  all  round,  who 
have,  that  is  to  say,  a  really  comprehensive  intuition. 
Take  history.  Unless  you  have  a  really  close  grasp 
of  what  Providence  means  —  of  not  only  the  End, 
but  the  Means  by  w^hich  God  works ;  unless  you  can 
see  right  through  things  to  their  Intention,  how  in 
the  world  can  you  interpret  the  past?  Don't  you 
remember  w^hat  Manners  said  about  Realism?  We 
don't  want  misleading  photographs  of  externals  any 
more.  We  want  Ideas.  And  how  can  you  cor- 
relate Ideas,  unless  you  have  a  real  grasp  of  the 
Central  Idea?     It's  nonsense." 

"  Go  on  with  the  other  things." 

"  There's  a  lot  more  about  education.  There's 
the  graduated  education  we  have  now  (entirely  an 
ecclesiastical  notion,  by  the  way).  We  don't  try  to 
teach  everybody  everything.  We  teach  a  certain 
foundation  to  every  one  —  the  Catechism,  of  course, 
two  languages  perfectly,  the  elements  of  physical 
science,  and  a  great  deal  of  history.  (You  can't 
understand  the  Catechism  without  history,  and  vice 
versa) ;  but  after  that  we  specialize.  Well,  the 
world  understands  now  — " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  99 

"  That's  enough,  thank  you.  Go  on  with  the 
other  things." 

Father  Jervis  laughed  again. 

"  We're  nearly  home.  Let's  turn  in  here,  and 
get  into  the  gardens  for  a  bit.  .  .  .  Well,  I 
think  you'll  find  that  the  root  of  all  your  difficulties 
is  that  you  seem  not  to  be  able  to  get  into  your 
head  that  the  world  is  really  and  intelligently  Chris- 
tian. There  are  the  Religious  Orders  you  spoke 
of.  Well,  aren't  the  active  Religious  Orders  the 
very  finest  form  of  association  ever  invented? 
Aren't  they  exactly  what  Socialists  have  always  been 
crying  for,  with  the  blunders  left  out  and  the  gaps 
filled  up?  As  soon  as  the  world  understood  finally 
that  the  active  Religious  Orders  could  beat  all  other 
forms  of  association  at  their  own  game  —  that  they 
could  teach  and  work  more  cheaply  and  efifectively, 
and  so  on  —  well,  the  most  foolish  Political  Econo- 
mist had  to  confess  that  the  Religious  Orders  made 
for  the  country's  welfare.  And  as  for  the  Con- 
templative Orders  — " 

Father  Jervis'  face  grew  grave  and  tender. 

**Yes?" 

"Why,  they're  the  princes  of  the  world!  They 
are  models  of  the  Crucified.  So  long  as  there  is 
Sin  in  the  world,  so  long  must  there  be  Penance. 
The  instant  Christianity  was  accepted,  the  Cross 
stood  up  dominant  once  more.     .     .     .     And  then 


loo  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

.  .  .  then  people  understood.  Why,  they're  the 
Holy  Ones  of  the  universe  —  higher  than  angels; 
for  they  suffer.     .     .     ." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Yes,"  said  Monsignor  softly. 

"  My  dear  Monsignor,  just  force  upon  your  mind 
the  fact  that  the  world  is  really  and  intelligently 
Christian.  I  think  it'll  all  be  plain  then.  You 
seem  to  me,  if  I  may  say  so,  to  be  falling  into  the 
old-fashioned  way  of  looking  at  '  Clericalism,'  as  it 
used  to  be  called,  as  a  kind  of  department  of  life, 
like  Art  or  Law.  No  wonder  men  resented  its  in- 
trusion when  they  conceived  of  it  like  that.  Well, 
there  is  no  *  Clericalism  '  now,  and  therefore  there 
is  no  anti-Clericalism.  There's  just  religion  —  as 
a  fact.  Do  you  see  ?  Shall  we  sit  down  for  a  few 
minutes?     Aren't  the  gardens  exquisite?" 

(m) 

Monsignor  Masterman  sat  that  night  at  his  win- 
dow, looking  out  at  the  stars  and  the  night  and  the 
blotted  glimmering  gardens  beneath;  and  it  seemed 
to  him  as  if  the  dream  deepened  every  day.  Things 
grew  more,  not  less  marvelous,  with  his  appreciation 
of  the  simplicity  of  it  all. 

From  three  to  seven  he  had  sat  in  one  of  the  seats 
on  the  right  of  the  royal  dais,  reserved  for  prelates, 
almost    immediately    opposite    the    double-pulpited 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  loi 

platform,  itself  set  in  the  midst  of  the  long  outer 
side  of  the  great  gallery  of  Versailles,  through 
which  access  was  to  be  had  to  the  little  old  private 
rooms  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  had  listened  spell- 
bound to  two  of  the  greatest  wits  of  France,  re- 
spectively attacking  and  defending,  with  extraor- 
dinary subtlety  and  fire,  the  claim  of  the  Church 
to  Infallibility.  The  disputation  had  been  con- 
ducted on  scholastic  lines,  all  verbal  etiquette  being 
carefully  observed;  again  and  again  he  had  heard, 
first  on  one  side  a  string  of  arguments  adduced 
against  the  doctrine,  then  on  the  other  a  torrent  of 
answers,  with  the  old  half-remembered  words  "  Dis- 
tinguo,"  "  Nego,"  "  Concedo  " ;  and  the  reasoning 
on  both  sides  had  appeared  to  him  astonishingly 
brilliant.  And  all  this  before  two  sovereigns  — 
the  one  keen,  vivacious,  and  appreciative ;  the  other 
heavy,  patient,  considerate  —  two  sovereigns, 
treated,  as  the  elaborate  etiquette  of  the  whole  af- 
fair showed  plainly  enough,  as  kings  indeed  —  men 
who  stood  for  authority,  and  the  grades  and  the  dif- 
ferentiation of  functions,  as  emphatically  as  the 
old  democratic  hand-shaking  statesmen,  dressed  like 
their  own  servants,  stood  for  the  other  comple- 
mentary principle  of  the  equality  of  men.  For 
alongside  of  all  this  tremendous  pomp  there  was  a 
very  practical  recognition  of  the  "  People  " ;  since 
the  whole  disputation  was  conducted  in  the  presence 


I02  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

of  a  crowd  drawn,  it  seemed,  from  almost  every 
class,  who  pressed  behind  the  barriers,  murmured, 
laughed  gleefully,  and  now  and  again  broke  out  into 
low  thunders  of  applause,  as  the  Catholic  cham- 
pion drove  logic  home,  or  turned  aside  the  infidel 
shaft. 

The  very  thesis  amazed  the  man,  for  the  absolute 
necessity  of  an  authoritative  supernatural  Church, 
with  supernatural  sanctions,  seemed  assumed  as  an 
axiom  of  thought,  not  merely  by  these  Catholics, 
but  by  the  entire  world,  Christian  and  un-Christian 
alike.  More  than  once  the  phrase  ''  It  is  conceded 
by  all  men  "  flashed  out,  and  passed  unrebuked,  in 
support  of  this  claim.  The  only  point  of  dispute 
between  reasoning  beings  seemed  to  be  not  as  to 
whether  or  no  the  Church  must  be  treated  practically 
as  infallible,  but  whether  dogmatically  and  actually 
she  were  so. 

As  he  sat  here  now  at  his  window,  Father  Jervis' 
words  began  to  come  back  with  new  force.  Was  it 
indeed  true  that  the  only  reason  why  he  found  these 
things  strange  was  that  he  could  not  yet  quite  bring 
home  to  his  imagination  the  fact  that  the  world 
now  was  convincedly  Christian  as  a  whole?  It  be- 
gan to  appear  so. 

For  somew^here  in  the  back  of  his  mind  (why  he 
knew  not)  there  lurked  a  sort  of  only  half -per- 
ceived assumption  that  the  Catholic  religion  was  but 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  103 

one  aspect  of  truth  —  one  point  of  view  from  which, 
with  sufficient  though  not  absohite  truth,  facts  could 
be  discerned.  He  could  not  understand  this;  yet 
there  it  was.  And  he  understood,  at  any  rate  in- 
tellectually, that  if  he  could  once  realize  that  the 
dogmas  of  the  Church  were  the  dogmas  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  not  only  that,  but  that  the  world  con- 
vincedly  realized  it  too,  why  then  the  fact  that  the 
civilization  of  to-day  was  actually  molded  upon  it 
would  no  longer  bewilder  him. 

(IV) 

It  was  on  the  following  morning  that  he  spoke 
with  the  King. 

The  two  priests  had  said  Mass  in  their  oratory, 
and  an  hour  later  were  walking  in  the  park  beneath 
the  palace  windows. 

It  was  one  more  of  that  string  of  golden  days, 
of  which  they  had  already  enjoyed  so  many,  and 
the  splendor  of  that  amazing  landscape  was  com- 
plete. 

They  had  passed  below  the  enclosure  known  as 
the  "  King's  Garden,"  and  were  going  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Trianon,  which  Monsignor  had  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  see,  and  had  just  emerged  into 
the  immense  central  avenue  which  runs  straight 
from  the  palace  to  the  lake.  Above  them  rose  the 
forest  trees,  enormous  now,  yet  tamed  by  Lenotre's 


104  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

marvelous  art,  resembling  a  regiment  of  giants  per- 
fectly drilled ;  the  grass  was  like  carpets  on  all  sides ; 
the  sky  blazed  like  a  blue  jewel  overhead;  the  noise 
of  singing  birds  and  falling  water  was  in  the  air. 
But  above  all  there  towered  on  their  right,  beyond 
the  almost  endless  terraces,  the  splendid  palace  of 
the  kings  of  France,  royal  at  last  once  more.  And 
there,  as  symbol  of  the  restoration,  there  hung 
round  the  flagstaff  as  he  had  seen  it  yesterday  the 
blue  folds  and  the  lilies  of  the  monarchy. 

It  was  no  good  trying  to  frame  words  as  to  what 
he  felt.  He  had  said  all  he  could,  and  it  was  use- 
less. Father  Jervis  seemed  unable  to  understand 
the  fierce  enthusiasm  of  a  man  who  now  experi- 
enced all  this,  as  it  appeared,  for  the  first  time.  He 
walked  silently,  exulting. 

There  seemed  not  many  people  abroad  this  morn- 
ing. The  two  had  presented  an  order,  obtained 
through  Monsignor  Allet,  at  the  gates  below  the 
Orange  Gardens,  and  had  learned  from  the  sentry 
that  until  the  afternoon  this  part  of  the  park  was 
closed  to  the  public.  Here  and  there,  however,  in 
the  distance  a  single  figure  made  its  appearance, 
w^alking  in  the  shade  or  hurrying  on  some  errand. 

The  priests  had  just  come  out  from  the  line  of 
trees  and  had  set  foot  in  the  avenue  itself,  when, 
twenty  yards  farther  up,  from  the  entrance  to  some 
other  path  parallel  to  their  own,  a  group  came  out, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  105 

and  an  instant  later  they  heard  themselves  hailed 
and  saw  Monsignor  Allet  himself,  in  all  his  purple, 
hurrying  towards  them. 

*'  You  are  the  very  men,"  he  cried,  again  stretch- 
ing out  his  hands  in  a  welcoming  French  gesture. 
"  His  Majesty  was  speaking  of  you  not  five  minutes 
ago.  He  is  here,  in  the  garden.  Shall  I  present 
you  now  ?  " 

Father  Jervis  glanced  at  his  friend. 

*'  His  Majesty  is  very  kind  — "  he  began. 

"  Not  a  word  more!  If  you  will  follow  me  and 
wait  an  instant  at  the  entrance,  I  will  speak  with 
His  Majesty  and  bring  you  in." 

"  I  have  not  my  ferraiuolo  — "  began  Monsignor. 

"  The  King  will  excuse  travelers,"  smiled  the 
Frenchman. 

The  entrance  to  the  "  King's  Garden  '*  on  this  side 
passes  beneath  an  arch  of  yew,  and  here  the  two 
waited. 

Somewhere  beyond  the  green  walls  they  could 
hear  talking,  and  now  and  again  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter. Then  the  talking  ceased,  and  they  heard  a 
single  voice. 

"  In  what  language  — "  began  Monsignor  Mas- 
terman  nervously. 

•'Oh!  English,  no  doubt.  You  can't  talk 
French?" 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 


io6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

''  Not  a  hundred  words,"  he  said. 

Again  came  the  quick  footstep,  and  the  French 
priest  appeared,  still  gay,  but  with  a  certain  solem- 
nity. ''  Come  this  way,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "  The 
King  will  see  you."  (He  glanced  at  the  prelate.) 
"  You  won't  forget  to  kneel,  Monsignor." 

To  the  English  prelate  the  scene  that  he  saw,  on 
emerging  at  last  into  the  open  space  in  the  middle, 
protected  by  the  ancient  yews  —  even  though  he 
should  have  been  prepared  for  it  by  all  that  he  had 
already  seen  —  simply  once  more  dazed  and  stupe- 
fied him. 

The  center  of  the  space  was  occupied  by  a  round 
pond,  perhaps  thirty  yards  across,  of  absolutely 
still  water,  and  in  this  mirror,  shaded  by  the  masses 
of  foliage  overhead,  was  reflected  a  picture  that 
might  have  been  taken  straight  from  some  painting 
two  hundred  years  old.  For,  on  the  semicircle  of 
marble  seats  that  stood  beyond  the  water,  sat  a 
company  of  figures  dressed  once  more  in  all  the 
bravery  of  real  color  and  splendor,  as  from  days 
when  men  were  not  ashamed  to  use  publicly  and 
commonly  these  glittering  gifts  of  God. 

Monsignor  hardly  noticed  the  rest  (there  were 
perhaps  twelve  or  fifteen  all  told,  with  half  a  dozen 
women  amongst  them)  ;  he  looked  only,  as  he  came 
round  the  pond,  at  the  central  figure  that  advanced 
to  meet  him.     Twice  he  had  seen  him  yesterday  — 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  107 

yet  those  occasions  had  been  public.  But  to  see  the 
King  now,  at  ease  amongst  his  friends,  yet  still 
royally  dressed  in  his  brilliant  blue  suit  and  feath- 
ered hat,  with  his  tall  cane  —  to  see  the  whole  com- 
pany, gay  and  brilliant,  talking  and  laughing,  taking 
their  pleasure  in  the  air  before  breakfast  —  the 
thing  somehow  brought  home  to  him  the  reality  of 
what  appeared  to  him  as  a  change,  more  than  had 
all  the  pomps  and  glories  of  the  day  before.  Splen- 
dor seemed  no  longer  ceremonial,  but  natural. 

Monsignor  Allet  was  explaining  something  in 
rapid  French  in  the  King's  ear,  and  as  the  two  came 
up,  the  face  that  listened  smiled  suddenly  with  in- 
telligence. 

''  I  give  you  welcome,'*  he  said  in  excellent  Eng- 
lish. 

*' Come,  gentlemen"  (he  turned  to  the  others, 
who  had  risen  to  their  feet  as  he  rose),  "we  must 
be  getting  homewards.  Monsignor!"  (and  he 
beckoned  to  the  two  English  priests  to  walk  with 
him.) 

That  walk  seemed  like  a  dream. 

They  went  leisurely  upwards  towards  the  palace, 
through  yew  alley  after  yew  alley,  French  chatter- 
ing sounding  behind  them  as  they  went;  and  the 
King,  still  in  fluent  English,  though  with  an  ac- 
cent that  increased  as  he  talked,  questioned  them 

courteously  as  to  England,  spoke  of  the  disputation 
8 


io8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

of  yesterday,  discussed  frankly  enough  the  situa- 
tion in  Germany,  and  Hstened  with  attention  to  the 
remarks  of  Father  Jervis;  for  Monsignor  Master- 
man  was  discreetly  silent  for  the  most  part. 

It  was  not  until  the  great  doors  of  the  palace  flew 
open  at  last,  and  the  rows  of  liveried  men  showed 
within,  that  the  King  dismissed  them.  He  turned 
on  the  steps  and  gave  them  his  hand  to  kiss.  Then 
he  raised  them  from  their  knees  with  a  courteous 
gesture. 

"  And  you  go  to  Rome,  you  say?  " 

"  Almost  immediately,  sire.  We  shall  be  there 
for  SS.  Peter  and  Paul." 

"  Present  my  homage  at  the  feet  of  the  Holy 
Father,"  smiled  the  King.  "  You  are  fortunate  in- 
deed. I  have  not  seen  His  Holiness  for  three 
months.     Good  day,  gentlemen." 

The  two  passed  again  in  silence  down  the  ter- 
races on  their  way  to  the  Trianon. 

"  It  is  amazing,"  burst  out  Monsignor  suddenly. 
"And  the  people.  What  of  them?  Is  there  no 
resentment?  " 

"Why  should  there  be?"  asked  the  other. 

"  But  they  are  excluded  from  the  palace  and  the 
park.     It  was  not  so  a  hundred  years  ago." 

"Do  you  think  they  are  any  the  less  happy?" 
asked  Father  Jervis.  "  My  dear  Monsignor,  surely 
you  know  human  nature  better  than  that!     They 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  109 

have  lost  the  vulgarity  of  Versailles,  and  they  have 
regained  its  royalty.     Don't  you  see  that?  " 

<'  ^ell !  " —  Monsignor  paused.  ''  It's  simply 
medisevalism  back  again,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  Exactly !  "  said  the  other.  "  You  have  hit  it  at 
last.  It  is  mediaevalism  —  that  is  to  say,  human 
nature  with  faith  and  reverence,  and  without  cant." 

He  paused  again,  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  You  know  honors  and  privileges  are  worth 
nothing  if  every  one  has  them.  If  we  all  wore 
crowns,  the  kings  would  go  bareheaded." 


CHAPTER  V 

(I) 

T  T  E  awoke  suddenly,  at  some  movement,  and  for 
an  instant  did  not  remember  where  he  was. 

For  nearly  a  week  they  had  stayed  on  at  Ver- 
sailles; and  each  day  that  had  passed  had  done  its 
share  in  making  this  fairyland  seem  more  like  a 
reality.  But  that  strange  subconscious  self  of  his, 
for  which  even  now  there  seemed  no  accounting, 
was  still  obstinate;  it  still  assured  him  that  the 
world  ought  not  to  be  like  this,  that  religion  ought 
not  to  be  so  concrete  and  effective  —  that  he  would 
awake  soon  and  find  himself  in  some  desolate  state 
of  affairs  where  Faith,  hemmed  in  by  enemies,  still 
fought  for  very  life  against  irresistible  odds.  It 
was  at  night  and  at  morning  that  the  mood  came 
on  him  most  forcibly;  when  instinct,  free  from 
facts,  and  ranging  clear  of  the  will's  dominion,  as- 
serted itself  most  strongly,  and  as  he  awoke  this 
night  it  was  on  him  again. 

He  looked  round  the  dark  little  room  with  be- 
wildered eyes;  then  he  fumbled  with  a  button,  and 
all  was  flooded  with  light. 

no 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  in 

He  was  lying  in  a  little  spring-bed,  set  within 
two  padded  sides,  like  a  berth  in  a  steamship.  And 
beside  him  was  the  closed  bureau  which  he  per- 
ceived to  be  washing  arrangements  in  disguise; 
overhead  protruded  a  broad  shelf;  on  the  wall, 
above  a  little  couch,  hung  silk  curtains  over  a  win- 
tiow  —  as  they  sw^ayed  slightly  with  some  move- 
ment he  caught  sight  of  glass  beyond.  On  the  door, 
at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  hung  his  cassock,  and  the 
purple  cincture  that  lay  across  it  recalled  him  to  at 
least  a  part  of  the  facts.  The  cabin  was  uphol- 
stered and  painted  in  clean  white,  and  an  electric 
globe  emerged  from  the  ceiling. 

He  w^as  next  conscious  of  cold,  and  instinctively 
leaned  forward  to  draw  the  quilt  farther  over  his 
knees.  Then,  with  a  flash,  he  remembered,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  cold,  was  out  of  bed  in  a  moment, 
kneeling  on  the  couch  and  peering  out  through  the 
curtains. 

At  first  he  could  see  nothing  at  all.  There  was 
but  an  unfathomable  gulf  beyond  the  glass.  He 
stood  up  on  the  couch,  and  drawing  the  curtains 
behind  his  head  to  shut  out  the  light,  he  once  more 
stared  out.     Then  he  began  to  see. 

Immediately  opposite  him  glimmered  a  huge 
white  outline  — in  the  incalculable  night  it  might 
be  a  hundred  yards  or  a  mile  away.  It  was  of 
irregular  outline,  for  the  star-strewn  sky  showed  in 


112  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

patches  and  rifts  above  it.  And  this  white  mass 
curved  away  beneath,  under  the  ship  in  which  he 
traveled,  till  it  met,  at  a  point  which  he  could  but 
just  discern,  a  blackness  that  rose  to  meet  it. 

Then,  as  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dark, 
he  began  to  see  that  the  huge  whiteness  was  flitting 
past,  steadily  and  leisurely,  from  right  to  left;  that 
it  was  streaked  with  shadows  or  clefts;  and  that 
following  it,  as  in  a  sliding  procession,  came  an- 
other, like  it  yet  (it  seemed)  more  distant. 

All  this  time,  too,  the  silence  was  profound. 
There  was  but  a  soft  humming  note  somewhere 
in  the  air,  and  the  faintest  sense  of  vibration  in  the 
metal-work  on  which  his  hands  were  pressed.  Once 
too  he  heard  a  footstep  pass  softly  and  rhythmically 
overhead,  as  if  some  watcher  moved  up  and  down 
the  length  of  the  upper  deck. 

The  man  dropped  the  curtains  and  sat  back  on 
his  heels,  trying  to  force  into  his  imagination  the 
facts  that  he  now  perceived  and  remembered. 

They  had  left  St.  Germain  last  night,  after  dining 
at  Versailles.  They  were  now  crossing  the  Alps. 
They  would  be  in  Rome  for  Mass  and  breakfast. 
.  .  .  They  were  traversing  at  this  moment,  no 
doubt,  only  a  thousand  feet  high,  one  of  those 
passes  up  which  (he  thought  he  remembered  from 
history)    the    old    railway-trains    had    been    accus- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  113 

tomed  to  climb,  yard  by  yard  and  spiral  by  spiral, 
a  hundred  years  before.     .     .     . 

In  a  minute  or  two  he  leaned  forward  and  stared 
again,  once  more  closing  the  curtains  behind  his 
head. 

The  sky  seemed  a  little  brighter,  he  thought, 
than  when  he  had  looked  just  now.  Perhaps  the 
moon  was  rising  somewhere.  And  certainly  the 
sky  was  more  in  evidence.  Far  away  to  the  left 
behind,  passing  even  as  he  looked,  moved  those 
gigantic  horns  of  white,  as  if  the  ship  stood  still 
and  the  earth  turned  beneath ;  and  below  now,  slop- 
ing to  the  right,  lay  long  lines  of  darkness,  jutting 
here  and  there  with  a  sudden  crag  against  the 
blaze  of  stars.  It  was  marvelous,  he  thought, 
how  still  all  lay;  there  was  a  steady  hiss,  now 
heard  for  the  first  time,  as  the  air  tore  past  the 
glassy  sides  of  the  bird-shaped  ship,  as  high  as  the 
cry  of  a  bat. 

He  shifted  on  his  knees  a  little,  and  staring  for- 
wards, saw  far  ahead  and  at  what  seemed  an  in- 
calculable distance  something  that  baffled  him  en- 
tirely, for  it  changed  its  aspect  every  instant  that  he 
watched. 

At  first  it  was  no  more  than  a  patch  of  lumin- 
osity; and  he  thought  it  to  be,  perhaps,  a  lighted 
town.     But  the  character  of  it  was  changed  as  he 


114  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

formulated  his  thought,  and  three  brilliant  spots 
like  blue  stars  broke  out  on  a  sudden,  and  these 
three  stars  shifted  their  positions.  He  kept  his  eyes 
on  these,  marveling;  and,  with  something  very  like 
fear,  saw  that  they  were  approaching  upwards  and 
onwards  with  the  swiftness  of  thought. 

Up  and  on  they  came.  He  shrank  back  a  little, 
instinctively;  and  then,  as  he  leaned  forward  once 
more,  determined  to  understand,  shrank  back  with 
a  sharp  indrawing  of  breath,  as  there  whirled  past, 
it  appeared  only  a  few  yards  away,  a  flare  of  bril- 
liant blue  lines,  in  the  midst  of  which  passed  a 
phantom-like  body  in  a  mist,  and  accompanied  by 
a  musical  sound  (it  seemed)  of  extraordinary  char- 
ity and  beauty,  that  rose  from  a  deep  organ-note  to 
the  shrill  of  a  flute,  and  down  again  into  a  bass  and 
a  silence.     .     .     . 

He  smiled  to  himself  as  he  climbed  back  into 
bed  a  minute  or  two  later,  when  he  had  recon- 
structed the  phenomena  and  interpreted  them.  It 
was  but  another  volor,  bound  northwards,  and  it 
had  probably  passed  at  least  half  a  mile  away. 

Well,  he  must  sleep  again  if  he  could.  They 
would  be  in  Rome  by  morning. 

They  had  delayed  their  departure  from  Ver- 
sailles to  the  last  possible  moment,  since  France 
was,  after  all,  under  the  circumstances,  one  of  the 
best  places  in  the  world  for  Monsignor  to  pick  up 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  115 

again  the  threads  of  Hfe.  For  one  thing,  it  was 
near  to  England  —  English  was  spoken  there 
amongst  the  educated  almost  as  frequently  as 
French;  yet  it  was  not  England,  and  Monsignor's 
plight  would  not  cause  him  any  great  inconvenience. 
Further,  France  was  at  present  the  theater  of  the 
world's  interest,  since  the  Emperor  was  there,  and 
on  the  Emperor's  future  depended  largely  the  des- 
tinies of  Europe:  his  conversion,  it  was  thought, 
might  be  the  final  death-blow  to  Socialism  in  his 
dominions. 

Monsignor  had  employed  his  time  well.  Not 
only  had  he  learned  accurately  the  general  state 
of  the  world,  but  morning  by  morning  he  had 
familiarized  himself  with  his  own  work,  and  felt, 
by  now,  very  nearly  competent  to  finish  his  lessons 
in  England.  Cardinal  Bellairs  communicated  with 
him  almost  every  day,  and  professed  himself  de- 
lighted with  the  progress  made.  Finally  he  had 
talked  Latin  continually  with  Father  Jervis  in  prep- 
aration for  Rome,  and  would  have  passed  muster, 
at  least,  in  general  conversation. 

The  two  motored  into  the  city  from  the  volor- 
station  outside,  and  everywhere  as  they  went 
through  the  streets  and  crossed  the  Tiber  on  their 
way  to  the  Leonine  City,  where  they  were  to  lodge, 
were  evidences  of  the  feast. 

For  the  whole  route   from  Vatican  to  Lateran, 


ii6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

which  they  crossed  more  than  once,  was  one  con- 
tinual triumphal  way.  Masts  had  been  erected, 
swathed  in  the  Papal  colors  and  crowned  with  gar- 
lands; barriers  ran  from  mast  to  mast,  behind 
which  already  the  crowds  were  beginning  to  gather, 
though  it  was  hardly  past  six  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing; and  from  every  window  hung  carpets,  ban- 
ners, and  tapestries.  The  motor  was  stopped  at 
least  half  a  dozen  times;  but  the  prelate's  insignia 
passed  them  through  quickly;  and  it  was  just  half- 
past  six  as  they  drew  up  before  an  old  palace  sit- 
uated on  the  right  in  the  road  leading  from  the 
Tiber  to  the  Vatican,  and  scarcely  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away  from  St.  Peter's. 

Monsignor  glanced  up  at  the  arms  above  the 
doorway  and  smiled. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  bringing  me  here,"  he 
said. 

"You  know  it?'^ 

"  Why,  it's  the  old  place  where  the  kings  of  Eng- 
land lodged,  isn't  it?" 

Father  Jervis  smiled. 

"  Your  memory's  improving,"  he  said. 

Then  a  magnificent  servant  came  out,  bowed  pro- 
foundly, and  opened  the  door  of  the  car. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Father  Jervis  as  they  went 
in,  "  Fd  better  go  and  inquire  the  details  at  the 
Vatican.     You  might  give  me  your  card.     Fll  go 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  117 

at  once,  and  then  come  back  and  join  you  at  break- 
fast." 

It  was  a  pleasant  little  suite  of  rooms,  not  un- 
like in  arrangements  to  those  of  Versailles.  The 
windows  looked  out  on  the  central  court,  where  a 
fountain  played,  and  the  rooms  themselves  were 
furnished  in  the  usual  Roman  fashion  —  painted 
ceilings,  stone  floors,  and  a  few  damask  hangings. 

Monsignor  turned  to  the  servant  who  was  super- 
intending the  two  Englishmen  they  had  brought. 

"  I've  not  been  in  Rome  for  some  time,"  he  said 
in  Latin.     "  Tell  me  what  this  house  is  now  ?  " 

"  Monsignor,  it  is  the  English  palace.  Mon- 
signor is  in  the  apartment  of  His  Eminence  Cardi- 
nal Bellairs." 

"The  King  himself  stays  here?" 

"  It  is  His  Majesty's  palace,"  said  the  man. 
*'  The  Prince  George  arrived  two  days  ago.  His 
Highness  is  in  the  apartment  below." 

Monsignor  smiled.  He  understood  now  Father 
Jervis'  evasion  as  to  where  they  were  to  stay  in 
Rome.  Plainly  it  was  determined  that  he  should 
have  a  front  seat  at  all  ceremonies. 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  he  came  out  of  his  bed- 
room. Father  Jervis  himself  came  in. 

"  You  have  your  choice,  Monsignor,"  he  said. 
"  As  a  Domestic  Prelate  you  have  the  right  to  walk 
in  the  procession  (here  is  the  permit),  or  as  occupy- 


Ii8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

ing  rooms  here  we  can,  if  you  prefer,  see  the  pro- 
cession from  the  front  windows." 

"  Tell  me  what  the  programme  is." 

"  At  nine  the  procession  leaves  St.  Peter's  to  go 
to  the  Lateran  —  at  least  the}^  call  it  nine.  There 
the  Holy  Father  sings  Mass,  as  bishop  in  his  own 
cathedral.  On  the  return  of  the  procession,  I  sup- 
pose about  midday,  the  Holy  Father  visits  the  tomb 
of  St.  Peter.  Then  this  afternoon  he  is  present  at 
Vespers  in  St.  Peter's;  and  afterwards  gives  the 
blessing  Urbi  et  Orhi  from  the  window  as  usual." 

'*  What  would  you  advise?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  advise  your  remaining  here  till 
midday.  There's  no  use  in  overdoing  it.  We  can 
see  everything  admirably.  Then  we  can  go  into 
St.  Peter's  for  the  visit  to  the  tomb,  and  come  back 
here  to  dejeuner.  After  that  we  can  arrange  about 
the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  Very  good.  Then  let  us  have  something  to  eat 
at  once." 

"Who's  Prince  George  of  England?  "  demanded 
Monsignor  presently  as  they  sat  over  coffee. 

Father  Jervis  laughed. 

"  You've  found  that  out,  have  you  ?  Yes,  he's 
here,  of  course.  Well,  he's  the  second  son ;  he's 
only  a  boy.  He's  over  here  to  represent  the  King. 
Every  sovereign  sends  a  prince  of  the  blood-royal 
for  to-day.     Even  the  German  Emperor." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  119 

"Do  you  mean  from  Europe?" 

"  I  mean  from  the  whole  world.  You  see  the 
East  is  scarcely  three  days  away  by  the  fast  volors ; 
so  even  the  Chinese — " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  China  and  Japan  send  repre- 
sentatives ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Japan  is  Christian  of  course,  any- 
how; and  China  has  at  least  one  or  two  Christian 
princes  of  the  blood." 

"  By  the  way,  what  about  Russia  ?  " 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"Is  it  Catholic?" 

"  My  dear  Monsignor,  it's  been  Catholic  for 
thirty  years." 

"  Oh,  dear  me !  You  must  lend  me  some  more 
histories.     .     .     .     What  made  it  Catholic?" 

"  Common  sense,  I  suppose.  How  they  could 
have  stood  out  for  so  long  is  the  only  thing  that 
puzzles  me." 

"  But  the  Petrine  claims  — " 

"  Why,  the  Petrine  claims  were  the  very  point. 
Facts  w^ere  too  strong.  If  you  look  back  over  his- 
tory you  can't  help  seeing  that  the  only  Christian 
body  that  was  ever  able  to  resist  Erastianism  on 
the  one  side  and  endless  division  on  the  other  has 
been  the  Church  built  on  Peter.  They  began  to  see 
it  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago  in  Russia  and  Greece. 
Then  the  Emperor  of  Russia  was  secretly  recon- 


I20  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

died  in  1930;  and  ten  or  twelve  years  later  his  peo- 
ple followed  him." 

"  Then  there's  no  more  dispute  ?  What  about 
the  Filioque  clause?" 

"  Why,  when  Peter  is  accepted,  the  rest  fol- 
lows." 

"  Then  you  may  say  that  the  entire  civilized  world 
is  represented  in  Rome  to-day?  " 

"  Certainly.     You'll  see  the  princes  in  the  pro- 


(n) 

An  hour  later  they  took  their  places  at  the  cen- 
tral window  of  the  long  sala  on  the  third  floor, 
looking  out  immediately  upon  the  narrow  street, 
which,  opposite,  fell  back  into  a  tiny  square,  and 
further  up  to  the  right,  upon  the  enormous  piazza 
of  St.  Peter's  and  the  basilica  itself  behind. 

It  was  a  real  Roman  day  —  not  yet  at  its  full 
heat,  but  intensely  clear  and  bright ;  and  Monsignor 
congratulated  himself  on  having  elected  to  remain 
as  a  spectator.  The  return  journey  from  the 
Lateran  about  noon  would  be  something  of  an  or- 
deal. 

The  street  and  the  piazza  presented  an  astonish- 
ingly brilliant  appearance.  Beneath,  the  roadway 
was  now  one  sheet  of  greenery  —  box,  myrtle,  and 
bay.     The  houses  opposite,  as  well  as  within  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  121 

little  square,  of  which  every  window  was  packed 
with  heads,  were  almost  completely  hidden  under 
the  tapestries,  the  carpets,  the  banners.  Behind  the 
barriers  on  either  side  of  the  garlanded  masts  was 
one  mass  of  heads  resembling  a  cobbled  pavement. 
So  much  for  sight.  For  sound,  the  air  was  filled 
with  one  steady  low  roar  of  voices;  for  down  to 
where  the  street  opened  far  away  to  the  left  into 
the  space  above  the  river,  the  same  vista  presented 
itself.  The  Campagna  since  twenty-four  hours  be- 
fore had  been  emptying  every  living  inhabitant  into 
Rome;  and  there  was  not  a  town  in  Italy,  and 
scarcely  in  Europe,  whence  special  volors  and  trains 
had  not  carried  the  fervent  to  the  Feast  of  the 
Apostles  in  Holy  Rome.  And,  for  scent,  the  air 
was  sweet  and  fragrant  with  the  aromatic  herbs 
of  the  roadway,  already  bruised  a  little  by  the  feet 
of  the  galloping  horses  of  those  that  went  up  and 
down  to  guard  the  route  or  to  carry  messages. 

It  was  a  little  hard  to  make  out  the  arrangements 
of  the  vast  circular  piazza  in  front  of  St.  Peter's. 
The  front  of  the  basilica  was  hung,  in  usual  Ro- 
man fashion,  with  gigantic  garlands  and  red  cloth; 
and  the  carpet  of  greenery  lined  with  troops  ran 
straight  up  the  center  of  the  space,  rippled  over 
the  steps,  and  ceased  only  beneath  the  towering  por- 
tico of  the  church.  But  on  either  side  of  this,  with 
spaces  between,  stood  enormous  groups  of  men  and 


122  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

horses,  marshaled,  no  doubt,  in  order  to  take  their 
places  at  the  proper  moment  in  the  procession. 

At  the  right,  immovable  and  tremendous,  rose 
up  the  great  palace  of  the  Vatican  itself,  unadorned 
except  where  a  glint  of  some  color  showed  itself 
at  the  Bronze  Doors ;  and  above  all,  like  a  benedic- 
tion in  stone,  against  the  vivid  blue  of  the  sky,  hung 
the  dome  of  the  basilica. 

Monsignor  Masterman  made  a  long,  keen  survey 
of  all  this.     Then  he  leaned  back  and  sighed. 

"  What  was  the  first  year  that  the  Pope  came  out 
of  the  Vatican  like  this?  " 

"  The  year  after  the  conquest  of  United  Italy. 
It  was  Austria  that  — " 

"  I  know  all  that.  And  you  mean  he  never  came 
out  so  long  as  the  old  state  of  affairs  continued?  " 

'*  How  could  he  ?  Don't  you  see  that  the  one 
thing,  humanly  speaking,  absolutely  necessary  for 
the  world  to  have  confidence  in  the  Church,  was  that 
the  Pope  should  be  really  supra-national?  Of 
course  for  many  years  he  had  to  be  an  Italian  — 
that's  obvious,  since  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  Italy, 
and  the  Romans  would  never  have  stood  a  for- 
eigner; and  that  made  it  all  the  more  essential  that 
he  should  be  cut  clean  off,  in  everything  else,  from 
Italian  sympathies.  He  had  to  be  two  things  si- 
multaneously, so  to  speak  —  emphatically  an  Italian 
for  the  sake  of  Italy  and  indeed  his  own  existence 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  123 

in  Rome;  and  emphatically  not  an  Italian  for  the 
sake  of  the  rest  of  Christendom.  And  can  you  sug- 
gest any  other  way  of  accomplishing  this  paradox? 
I  can't." 

Monsignor  sighed  again  and  began  to  medi- 
tate. 

For  somewhere  at  the  back  of  his  mind  there  ran 
an  undercurrent  of  thought,  or  as  of  some  one 
talking,  to  the  effect  that  the  Pope's  old  method 
of  remaining  as  a  prisoner  in  the  Vatican  was  a 
foolish  and  unhumble  pose.  ( He  supposed  he  must 
have  read  it  all  somewhere  in  history.)  Surely 
even  Catholics  used  to  talk  like  that!  They  used 
to  say  how  much  more  spiritual  and  Christian  it 
would  have  been,  had  the  Vicar  of  Christ  acquiesced 
and  been  content  to  live  as  a  simple  Italian  sub- 
ject, neither  claiming  nor  desiring  a  position  such 
as  Peter  had  never  enjoyed.  Why  all  this  fuss,  it 
used  to  be  asked,  about  a  Temporal  Power  on  be- 
half of  a  ^'  Kingdom  that  was  not  of  this  world  "? 

Yet,  somehow,  now  as  he  looked  back  on  it  all, 
with  his  friend's  comment  in  his  mind,  he  began 
to  see,  not  how  clever  or  diplomatic  had  been  the 
old  attitude,  but  how  absolutely  and  obviously  es- 
sential. It  was  possible  indeed  for  Peter  to  be  a 
subject  of  Nero  in  things  pertaining  to  Caesar;  but 
how  could   that   be   possible   to   Peter's   successor 

when  the  Kingdom  of  Christ  which  he  ruled  on 
9 


124  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

earth  had  become  a  Supra-national  Society  to  which 
the  nations  of  the  earth  looked  for  guidance? 

The  phrase  he  had  just  heard  ran  in  his  mind. 

"  An  Italian  for  the  sake  of  Italy  and  his  own 
existence  in  Rome.  Not  an  Italian  for  the  sake  of 
the  rest  of  Christendom.'* 

It  seemed  simple,  somehow,  just  like  that. 

He  was  roused  by  a  touch  on  his  knee,  and  si- 
multaneously was  aware  of  a  new  sound  from  the 
piazza. 

"  Look,"  said  the  old  priest  sharply.  "  They're 
beginning  to  move." 

(Ill) 

A  curious  seething  movement  had  broken  out  in 
the  piazza,  resembling  the  stir  of  a  troubled  ant- 
hill, on  either  side  of  the  broad  green  way  down 
which  the  Pope  would  come;  and  already  into  the 
head  of  the  street  up  which  the  priests  looked  fig- 
ures were  emerging.  Simultaneously  a  crash  of 
brazen  music  had  filled  the  air.  A  movement  of 
attention,  exactly  like  the  lift  of  a  swell  along  the 
foot  of  a  cliff,  passed  down  the  crowded  street  to 
the  left  and  lost  itself  round  the  corner  towards  S. 
Angelo. 

Then  they  began  to  come,  swinging  over  from 
the  piazza  to  street  as  if  from  a  pool  into  a  narrow 
channel.     Troops  came  first  —  company  after  com- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  125 

pany  —  each  with  a  band  leading.  First  the  Aus- 
trian guard  in  white  and  gold  on  white  chargers  — 
passing  from  the  flash  and  dazzle  their  uniforms 
threw  back  in  the  sunlight  into  the  glow  of  the 
shadowed  street.  And  then,  by  the  time  that  the 
Austrians  were  passing  below  the  window,  came 
troop  after  troop  down  from  the  piazza  in  all  the 
uniforms  of  the  civilized  world. 

At  first  Father  Jervis  murmured  a  name  or  two ; 
he  even  laid  his  hand  upon  his  friend's  arm  as  the 
Life-guards  of  England  came  dashing  by  with 
their  imperturbable  faces  above  their  silver  splen- 
dor; but  presently  the  amazing  spectacle  forming 
in  the  piazza,  and,  above  all,  on  the  steps  of  St. 
Peter's,  silenced  them  both.  Monsignor  Master- 
man  gave  scarcely  a  glance  even  to  the  monstrous 
figures  of  the  Chinese  imperial  guard  who  went  by 
presently  in  black  armor  and  vizarded  helmets,  like 
old  Oriental  gods.  For  in  the  piazza  itself  the 
procession  of  princes  was  forming;  and  the  steps 
of  the  basilica  already  began  to  burn  with  purple 
and  scarlet  where  the  Cardinals  and  the  Papal  Court 
were  making  ready  for  the  coming  of  the  Lord  of 
them  all. 

And  then,  at  last,  he  came.     .     .     . 

Monsignor  Masterman  had  begun  to  stare,  al- 
most with  unintelligent  eyes,  at  the  thronged  street 
beneath,  watching  the  great  carriages  come  past, 


126  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

each  surmounted  by  a  crown  with  its  proper  sup- 
porters, each  surrounded  by  a  small  guard  drawn 
from  the  troops  that  had  ridden  by  just  now.  He 
identified  a  few  here  and  there;  and  his  heart  gave 
a  strange  leap  as  the  Imperial  Crown  of  England 
came  in  sight,  held  up  by  the  Lion  and  the  Uni- 
corn, and  beneath  it,  within  the  gilded  couch,  the 
face  of  a  boy  capped  and  robed  in  scarlet.  And 
then  he  looked  up  again,  startled  by  a  silence  broken 
only  by  the  footsteps  of  the  horses  and  the  wheels 
over  the  matted  roadway,  and  the  murmur  of  talk- 
ing. 

The  piazza  w^as  now  one  sea  of  white  and  pur- 
ple, with  em.blems,  gold  and  silver  and  jeweled, 
shining  here  and  there;  the  green  strip  was  gone; 
for  the  Papal  procession  was  begun;  and  then,  on 
the  instant,  as  he  looked,  there  was  a  new  group 
standing  beneath  the  giant  columns  of  the  portico, 
and  the  cry  of  the  silver  trumpets  told  to  the  thou- 
sands that  waited  that  the  Vicar  of  Christ  had 
come  out  into  this  city  that  was  again  the  City  of 
God. 

Very  slowly  he  came  down  the  steps,  a  tiny  white 
and  gemmed  figure,  yet  perfectly  visible  on  the 
high  throne  on  which  he  was  borne,  his  hand  sway- 
ing as  he  came,  and  the  huge  fans  moving  behind 
him  like  protecting  deities.     Down  and  down  he 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  127 

came,  while  the  trumpets  cried,  and  the  waves  of 
color  followed  him,  and  then  vanished  for  a  time 
among  the  crowd  beneath,  as  he  reached  the  level 
ground. 

Monsignor  Masterman  leaned  back  and  closed 
his  eyes.     .     .     . 

He  was  disturbed  by  another  touch  on  his  arm; 
and,  opening  them,  perceived  that  his  friend  was 
attracting  his  attention  almost  mechanically,  and 
without  looking  at  him. 

''  Look,"  murmured  Father  Jervis  — "  it's  the 
wdiite  jennet." 

Beneath,  the  street  was  now  as  wholly  ecclesias- 
tical as  it  had  been  military  just  before,  except  that 
the  Papal  zouaves  marched  in  single  file  on  either 
side  of  the  procession.  But  within  there  was  just 
one  packed  army,  going  eight  abreast,  of  semina- 
rians and  clerics.  These  were  just  passing  as  the 
priest  looked  again,  and  close  on  their  heels  came 
the  Count  and  the  Cardinals;  the  latter  an  inde- 
scribable glory  of  scarlet,  riding  four  abreast  in 
broad  hats  and  ample  cloaks.  But  he  gave  scarcely 
more  than  a  glance  at  these ;  for,  full  in  sight  for  at 
least  half  a  minute,  advancing  straight  towards  him 
down  the  weary  roaring  street,  moved  a  canopy  held 
by  figures  he  could  not  clearly  make  out,  and  be- 
neath it,  detached  and  perfectly  visible,  on  a  white 


128  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

horse,  a  white  figure,  its  shoulders  just  draped  in 
scarlet  and  its  head  shadowed  by  a  great  scarlet  hat, 
came  slowly  towards  him. 

(IV) 

And  so  the  day  went  by  like  a  dream;  and  the 
man  who  still  seemed  to  himself  as  one  risen  from 
the  dead  into  a  new  and  wholly  bewildering  world, 
watched  and  gathered  impressions  and  assimilated 
them.  Once  or  twice  during  the  day  he  found  him- 
self at  meals  with  Father  Jervis ;  he  asked  questions 
now  and  then  and  scarcely  heard  the  answers;  he 
talked  with  ecclesiastics  a  little  who  came  and  went ; 
but,  for  the  most  part  almost  unknown  to  him- 
self, he  worked  interiorly,  busy  as  a  bee,  building 
up,  not  so  much  facts  as  realizations,  into  the  new 
and  strange  world-edifice  that  was  gradually  form- 
ing about  him.  He  was  present  at  the  visit  of  the 
Pope  to  the  tomb  of  the  Apostle,  and  watched  from 
a  tribune,  even  then  so  concentrated  on  observation 
that  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  connected  thought, 
as  the  vast  doors  rolled  back  and  a  vision  as  of 
such  a  celestial  troop  as  was  dreamed  of  by  the  old 
Italian  painters  came  up  out  of  the  vivid  sunlight 
into  the  cool  darkness  of  the  basilica,  as  the  roofs 
gave  back  the  roaring  of  the  fervent  thousands  and 
the  clear  cry  of  the  silver  trumpets;  watched  as 
the   army   of   ecclesiastics   deployed   this   way   and 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  129 

that,  and  the  Father  of  Princes  and  Kings  came 
on  between  his  royal  children  to  the  gates  of  the 
confession  ringed  by  the  golden  lamps,  and  went 
down  to  kneel  by  the  body  of  the  first  Fisherman- 
King. 

And  again  at  Vespers,  from  the  same  tribune, 
he  heard  the  peal  of  the  new  great  organs  in  the 
dome,  and  the  psalm-melodies  rocking  from  side  to 
side  between  the  massed  choirs ;  he  glanced  now  and 
again  at  the  royal  tribune  opposite,  where,  each 
beneath  a  canopy,  the  rulers  of  the  earth  sat  to- 
gether to  do  honor  to  the  Lord  and  His  Anointed. 
And,  above  all,  he  watched,  still  with  that  steady 
set  face  that  made  Father  Jervis  look  at  him  once 
or  twice,  the  central  figure  of  all,  now  on  his  throne, 
with  his  assistants  beside  him,  now  passing  up  to 
the  altar  to  incense  it,  and  finally  passing  out  again 
on  the  sedia  gestatoria  to  the  palace  where  at  last 
he  ruled  indeed. 

Last  of  all,  as  the  sun  began  to  sink  behind  the 
monstrous  dome,  and  Rome  stood  out  like  an  Ori- 
ental city  of  dreams,  and  the  purple  lights  came 
out  on  the  low-lying  hills,  and  the  illuminations 
glowed  from  every  window,  and  blazed  beneath 
the  feet  and  round  the  heads  of  the  gigantic  apos- 
tolic figures  gathered  round  their  Lord  —  there, 
watching  again  from  his  window,  he  saw,  in  a  sud- 
den hush  over  the  heads  of  the  countless  crowds 


ISO  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  tiny  white  figure  standing  above  the  tapestries, 
with  the  Papal  triple  cross  glinting  beside  him  like 
a  thread,  and  heard  the  thin  voice,  gnat-like  and 
clear,  declared  the  "  help  of  the  Lord  who,"  as  the 
thunder  of  the  square  answered  him,  "  hath  made 
heaven  and  earth,"  and  then  invoke  upon  the  city 
and  the  world,  before  the  tremendous  Amen,  the 
blessing  of  God  Almighty,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Ghost. 


CHAPTER  VI 

(I) 

TT  was  a  few  minutes  after  they  had  finished  their 
-^  almost  silent  meal  that  evening,  that  Monsignor 
suddenly  leaned  forward  from  his  chair  in  the  great 
cool  loggia  and  passed  his  hands  over  his  eyes  like 
a  sleepy  man.  From  the  streets  outside  still  came 
the  murmur  of  innumerable  footsteps  and  voices 
and  snatches  of  music. 

"  Tired?  "  asked  the  other  gently.  (He  had  not 
spoken  for  some  minutes,  and  remembering  the 
long  silence,  had  wondered  if,  after  all,  it  had  been 
wise  to  bring  a  man  with  such  an  experience  be- 
hind him  to  such  a  rush  and  excitement  as  that 
through  which  they  had  passed  to-day.) 

Monsignor  said  nothing  for  an  instant.  He 
looked  round  the  room,  opened  and  closed  his  lips, 
and  then,  leaning  back  again,  suddenly  smiled.  Then 
he  took  up  the  pipe  he  had  laid  aside  just  now  and 
blew  through  it. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Exactly  the  opposite.  I  feel 
awake  at  last." 

"Eh?" 

131 


132  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  It  seems  to  have  got  into  me  at  last.  All  this 
.  .  .  all  this  very  odd  world.  I  have  begun  to 
see." 

"  Please  explain." 

Monsignor  began  to  fill  his  pipe  slov^ly. 

"  Well,  Versailles,  even,  didn't  quite  do  it,"  he 
said.  "  It  seemed  to  me  a  kind  of  game  —  cer- 
tainly a  very  pleasant  one;  but — "  (He  broke 
off.)  "But  what  we've  seen  to-day  seems  some- 
how the  real  thing." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  Well,  I  can  see  for  myself  now  that  all  that 
you've  told  me  is  real  —  that  the  world's  really 
Christian,  and  so  on.  It  was  those  Chinese  guards, 
I  think,  which  as  much  as  anything  — " 

"Chinese?     ...     I  don't  remember  them." 

The  prelate  smiled  again. 

"  Well,  I  scarcely  noticed  them  at  the  time,  either. 
But  I've  been  thinking  about  them.  And  then  all 
the  rest  of  it  .  .  .  and  the  Pope.  .  .  . 
By  the  way,  I  couldn't  make  out  his  face  very 
well.     Is  that  a  picture  of  him?  " 

He  stood  up  suddenly  and  stepped  across  to 
where  the  portrait  hung.  There  was  nothing  very 
startling  about  the  picture.  It  showed  just  a  very 
ordinary  face  with  straight  closed  lips,  of  a  man 
seated  in  an  embossed  chair,  with  the  familiar  white 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  133 

cap,  cassock,  and  embroidered  stole  with  spade-ends. 
"  He   looks   quite   ordinary,"   mused    Monsignor 
aloud.     "  It's     .     .     .     it's  like  the  face  of  a  busi- 
ness man." 

''  Oh,  yes,  he's  ordinary.  He's  an  extremely 
good  man  and  quite  intelligent.  He's  never  had  any 
very  great  crisis  to  face,  you  know.  They  say  he's 
a  good  financier.  .  .  .  You  look  disappointed." 
"  I  hadn't  expected  him  to  look  like  that,"  said 
the  prelate,  musing. 
"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  he  seems  to  have  an  extraordinary  posi- 
tion in  the  world.  I  should  have  expected  more 
of  a—" 

"  More  of  a  great  man?     Monsignor,  don't  you 
think  that  the  Average  Man  makes  the  best  ruler  ?  " 
"  But  that's  rank  Democracy !  " 
"  Not  at  all.     Democracy  doesn't  give  the  Aver- 
age Man  any  real  power  at  all.     It  swamps  him 
among,  under  his  friends  —  that  is  to  say,  it  kills 
his  individuality;  and  his  individuality  is  the  one 
thing  he  has  which  is  worth  anything." 
Monsignor  sat  dow^n  again,  sighing. 
*'  Well,  I  think  it's  got  into  me  at  last,"  he  re- 
peated.    "  I  mean,  I  think  I  really  realize  what  the 
world's  like  now.     But  I  want  to  see  a  great  deal 
more,  you  know." 


134  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  quite  know.  .  .  .  You  might 
call  it  the  waterline  between  Faith  and  Science.  I 
see  the  Faith  side.  I  understand  that  the  life  of 
the  world  moves  on  Catholicism  now;  but  I  don't 
quite  realize  yet  how  all  that  joins  on  to  Science. 
In  my  day — "  (he  broke  off)  *' I  mean  I  had 
a  kind  of  idea  that  there  was  a  gap  between  Faith 
and  Science  —  if  not  actual  contradictions.  How 
do  they  join  on  to  one  another?  What's  the  aver- 
age scientific  attitude  towards  religion?  Do  people 
on  both  sides  just  say  that  each  must  pursue  its  own 
line,  even  if  they  never  meet?  " 

Father  Jervis  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand.  There's  no  conflict 
between  Faith  and  Science.  A  large  proportion  of 
the  scientists  are  ecclesiastics." 

"  But  what's  the  meeting-point  ?  That's  what  I 
don't  see." 

The  priest  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  I  simply  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Monsig- 
nor.     Give  me  an  example." 

"  Well  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  what  about  Faith- 
healing?  The  dispute  used  to  be,  I  think,  as  to  the 
explanation  of  certain  cures.  (Mr.  Manners 
spoke  of  it,  you  know.)  Psychologists  used  to  say 
that  cures  happened  by  suggestion;  and  Catholics 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  135 

used  to  say  that  they  were  supernatural.     How  have 
they  become  reconciled?" 

Farther  Jervis  considered  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  think  Fve  ever  thought  of  it  like  that," 
he  said.  "  I  think  I  should  say — "  (he  hesitated) 
"  I  think  I  should  say  that  everybody  believes  now 
that  the  power  of  God  does  everything;  and  that 
in  some  cases  He  works  through  suggestion,  and 
in  some  through  supernatural  forces  about  which 
we  don't  know  very  much.  But  I  don't  think  it 
matters  much  (does  it?),  if  you  believe  in  God." 

"  That  doesn't  explain  what  I  mean." 

The  door  opened  abruptly  and  a  servant  came  in. 
He  bowed. 

"  The  Bishop  of  Sebaste  inquires  whether  you 
are  at  home,  Monsignor?  " 

Monsignor  glanced  at  Father  Jervis. 

"  He's  come  out  as  chaplain  to  Prince  George," 
explained  the  priest  in  rapid  Latin.  **  We'd  better 
see  him." 

"  Very  good.     .     .     .     Yes,"  said  Monsignor. 

He  turned  to  the  priest  again. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  tell  him  about  me  ?  " 

"You  don't  mind?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

Father  Jervis  got  up  and  slipped  quickly  out  of 
the  room. 


136  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  I'm  delighted  to  see  you  again,  Monsignor," 
began  the  Bishop,  coming  in,  followed  by  Father 
Jervis  three  minutes  later. 

Monsignor  straightened  himself  after  the  kissing 
of  the  ring. 

*'  You're  very  kind,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

As  the  Bishop  sat  down,  he  examined  him  care- 
fully, noticing  that  there  was  nothing  noticeable 
about  him.  He  seemed  a  characteristic  prelate  — 
large,  genial,  ruddy  and  smiling,  with  bright  eyes 
and  well-cut  mouth.  He  was  in  his  purple  and 
ferraiuolo,  and  carried  himself  briskly  and  cheer- 
fully. 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  were  going  to  the  reception 
to-night.  If  so,  we  might  go  together.  But  it's 
rather  late." 

"  We  haven't  heard  about  that." 

"  Oh !  it's  purely  informal.  The  Holy  Father 
probably  won't  appear  himself,  except  perhaps  for 
a  moment." 

"Oh!     At  the  Vatican?" 

"  Yes.  There  will  be  an  enormous  crowd,  of 
course.  .  .  .  The  Prince  has  gone  to  bed,  poor 
little  chap !  He's  done  up  altogether ;  and  I  thought 
of  slipping  over  for  a  half-hour  or  so.", 

Monsignor  glanced  at  his  friend. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  an  excellent  thing,"  ob- 
served the  old  priest. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  137 

"  Well,  there's  a  carriage  waiting,"  said  the 
Bishop,  rising.  ''  I  think  we'd  better  go,  if  we're 
going.     We  shall  be  back  within  the  hour." 


(II), 

It  was  within  ten  minutes  of  the  time  that  the 
three  had  arranged  to  meet  again  at  the  foot  of  the 
Scala  Regia  that  Monsignor  suddenly  realized  that 
he  had  lost  himself. 

He  had  wandered  for  half  an  hour,  after  making 
his  salutations  to  the  Master  of  the  Apostolic  Pal- 
ace, who,  in  the  Pope's  absence,  was  receiving  the 
visitors;  and,  at  first  with  Father  Jervis  and  the 
Bishop,  who  had  pointed  out  to  him  the  notabilities, 
and  presently  drifting  from  them  in  the  crowds, 
by  himself,  had  gone  up  and  down  and  in  and  out 
through  endless  corridors,  courts,  loggise,  and  great 
reception-rooms  of  the  enormous  place,  watch- 
ing the  amazing  crowds,  and  exchanging  bows  and 
nods  with  persons  who  had  bowed  and  nodded  to 
him. 

The  whole  system  of  the  thing  seemed  new  to 
him.  He  had  imagined  (he  scarcely  knew  why) 
the  Vatican  to  be  a  place  of  silence  and  solemn 
dignity  and  darkness,  with  a  few  sentries  here  and 
there,  a  few  prelates,  a  cardinal  or  two  —  with  oc- 
casionally a  group  of  very  particular  visitors,  or, 


138  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

on  still  rarer  occasions,  a  troop  of  pilgrims  being 
escorted  to  some  sight  or  some  audience. 

Certainly  it  was  not  at  all  like  this  to-night. 

First,  the  whole  place  was  illuminated  in  nearly 
every  window.  Huge  electric  lights  blazed  behind 
screens  in  all  the  courts;  bands  of  music  were  sta- 
tioned at  discreet  intervals  one  from  another;  and 
through  every  station  that  he  went,  through  corri- 
dors, reception-rooms,  up  and  down  stairways,  seeth- 
ing in  every  court,  streaming  through  every  passage 
and  thoroughfare,  moved  a  multitude  of  persons  — 
largely  ecclesiastics,  but  also  very  largely  otherwise 
(though  there  were  no  ladies  present)  — talking, 
questioning,  laughing,  wholly,  it  seemed,  at  their 
ease,  and  appearing  to  find  nothing  unusual  in  the 
entire  affair.  Here  and  there  in  some  of  the  great 
rooms  small  courts  seemed  to  be  in  process  —  a 
company  of  perhaps  twenty  or  forty  would  be  stand- 
ing round  two  or  three  notabilities  who  sat.  There 
was  usually  a  cardinal  here,  sometimes  two  or 
three;  and  on  three  or  four  occasions  he  saw  what 
he  imagined  must  be  a  royalty  of  some  kind,  seated 
with  a  cardinal,  while  the  rest  stood. 

It  was  to  himx  a  very  extraordinary  spectacle,  in 
spite  of  his  further  initiation  that  day  into  this  new 
world,  so  utterly  unfamiliar  to  him;  and  it  seemed 
once  more  to  drive  home  to  his  consciousness  this 
strange  state  of  affairs  of  which  his  friend  had  tried 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  139 

to  persuade  him,  but  which  he  yet  found  difficult 
wholly  to  take  in.  Certainly  the  world  and  the 
Church  seemed  on  very  cordial  terms.     .     .     . 

But  now  he  had  lost  himself  altogether.  He  had 
wandered  up  a  long  corridor,  thinking  that  it  would 
lead  him  back  to  the  Court  of  St.  Damasus,  whence 
he  knew  his  way  well  enough;  and  he  now  paused, 
hesitating.  For  it  seemed  to  him  that  every  step 
he  was  taking  led  him  farther  from  the  lights  and 
the  din  of  voices  and  music. 

He  could  see  behind  him,  framed  in  a  huge  open 
doorway,  as  on  an  illuminated  disc,  a  kaleidoscope 
of  figures  moving;  and  in  front,  as  he  stood,  the 
corridor,  although  here  the  lights  burned  as  bril- 
liantly as  elsewhere,  seemed  to  lead  away  into  com- 
parative darkness.  Yet  he  felt  certain  of  his  direc- 
tion. 

Then,  as  he  stood,  a  door  opened  somewhere  in 
front,  and  he  thought  he  heard  voices  talking  again. 
It  reassured  him,  and  he  went  on. 

It  was  not  until  he  found  himself  in  a  small  lobby 
(comparatively  small  that  is,  for  it  was  not  less  than 
forty  feet  square,  and  the  painted  coffered  ceiling 
was  twenty  feet  above  his  head),  that  he  stopped 
again,  completely  bewildered.  There  was  no  longer 
any  sound  to  guide  him,  for  he  had  closed  a  couple 
of  passage-doors  behind  him  as  he  came;  and  he 

noticed  that  practically  complete  silence  was  on  all 
10 


I40  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

sides;  a  single  illuminated  half-globe  shone  gently 
from  the  ceiling  overhead. 

He  stood  some  time  considering  and  listening  to 
the  silence,  till  he  became  aware  that  it  was  not 
silence.  There  was  a  very  faint  murmur  of  a  voice 
behind  one  of  the  four  doors  that  opened  on  this 
lobby;  and  beside  the  door  there  rested  (he  now 
noticed  for  the  first  time)  the  halberd  of  a  Swiss, 
as  if  the  soldier  had  just  been  called  within.  This 
decided  him;  he  went  to  the  door,  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  handle,  and  immediately  the  murmur 
ceased.  He  pushed  down  the  handle  and  opened 
the  door. 

For  a  moment  as  he  stared  within  he  could  not 
understand :  he  had  expected  a  passage  —  a  guard- 
room —  at  least  something  secular.  Yet  it  was 
some  kind  of  a  chapel  or  sacristy  into  which  he  was 
looking:  he  observed  the  outline  of  an  altar  with  its 
crucifix ;  and  two  figures. 

Then  one  of  the  figures  —  in  the  habit  of  a  Fran- 
ciscan, barefooted,  with  a  purple  stole  across  its 
shoulders  —  had  sprung  towards  him,  and  half 
pushed,  half  waved  him  backwards  again. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  How  dare  you  — 
I  beg  pardon,  Monsignor,  but  — " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  father ;  I  had  lost  my  way. 
.     .     .     I  am  a  stranger." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  141 

"  Back  —  back  that  way,  Monsignor,"  stammered 
the  friar.     "  The  guard  should  have  told  you." 

The  truth  was  dawning  on  the  prelate  little  by 
little,  helped  by  the  flash  of  the  other  kneeling  white 
figure  he  had  seen  within. 

''  Yes,"  stammered  the  friar  again.  "  The  Holy 
Father.  Back  that  way,  Monsignor.  Yes,  yes  — 
that  door  straight  opposite." 

It  w^as  over;  the  two  doors  had  closed  almost 
simultaneously,  behind  the  friar  as  he  had  gone 
back  to  his  duty,  and  behind  the  priest  who  now 
stood  again  at  the  end  of  the  long  corridor  down 
which  he  had  come.  He  stood  here  now,  strangely 
moved  and  affected. 

He  had  seen  nothing  remarkable  in  itself  —  the 
Pope  at  confession.  And  yet  in  some  manner,  be- 
yond the  startling  fact  that  he  had  groped  his  way, 
all  unknowing,  to  the  Pope's  private  apartments, 
and  at  such  a  moment,  the  dramatic  contrast  between 
the  glare  and  noise  of  the  reception  outside  —  itself 
the  climax  of  a  series  of  brilliant  external  splendors 
—  and  the  silent,  half -lighted  chapel  where  the  Lord 
of  All  kneeled  to  confess  his  sins,  caused  a  sur- 
prising disturbance  in  his  soul. 

Up  to  now  he  had  been  introduced  step  by  step 
into  a  new  set  of  experiences,  Christian  indeed,  yet 
amazingly  worldly  in  their  aspect;  he  had  begun  to 


142  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

learn  that  religion  could  transform  the  outer  world, 
and  affect  and  use  for  its  own  purposes  all  the 
pomps  and  glories  of  outward  existence ;  he  had  be- 
gun to  realize  that  there  was  nothing  akin  to  God 
—  no  line  of  division  between  the  Creator  and  the 
creature;  and  now,  in  one  instant,  he  had  been 
brought  face  to  face  again  with  inner  realities,  and 
had  seen,  as  it  were,  a  glimpse  of  the  secret  core  of 
all  the  splendor.  The  Pope  attended  by  princes  — 
the  Pope  on  his  knees  before  a  barefooted  friar. 
These  were  the  two  magnetic  points  between  which 
blazed  Religion. 

He  stood  there,  trembling  a  little,  trying  to  steady 
his  bewildered  brain  —  even  now,  in  spite  of  his 
years,  not  unlike  the  brain  of  a  child.  He  passed 
his  tongue  over  his  suddenly  dry  lips.  Then  he  be- 
gan to  move  down  the  passage  again,  to  find  his 
friends. 


CHAPTER  VII 

(I) 

CCTXTHAT  I  can't  yet  quite  understand,"   said 

^^  Monsignor,  ''is  that  point  I  mentioned 
the  other  day  about  Faith  and  Science.  I  don't  see 
where  one  ends  and  the  other  begins.  It  seems  to 
me  that  the  controversy  must  be  unending.  The 
materiaHst  says  that  since  Nature  does  all  things, 
even  the  most  amazing  things  must  be  done  by  her 
—  that  we  shall  be  able  to  explain  them  all  some 
day,  when  Science  has  got  a  little  farther.  And 
the  theologian  says  that  some  things  are  so  evi- 
dently out  of  the  reach  of  Nature  that  they  must  be 
done  by  a  supernatural  power.  Well,  where' s  the 
point  of  reconcihation?  " 

Father  Jervis  was  silent  for  a  while. 

The  two  were  sitting  on  the  upper  deck  of  an 
air-ship  towards  evening,  traveling  straight  towards 
the  setting  sun. 

He  had  grown  almost  accustomed  to  such  views 
by  now ;  and  yet  the  sight  that  had  been  unrolling 
itself  gradually  during  the  last  half-hour  had  held 
him  fascinated  for  minute  after  minute.     They  had 

143 


144  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

taken  ship  in  Rome  after  a  day  or  two  more  of 
sight-seeing,  and  had  moved  up  the  peninsula  by 
stages,  changing  boats  soon  after  crossing  the  fron- 
tier, for  one  of  the  high-flying,  more  leisurely  and 
more  luxurious  vessels  on  which  the  more  wealthy 
classes  traveled.  They  were  due  in  Lourdes  that 
evening;  and,  ever  since  the  higher  peaks  of  the 
Pyrenees  had  come  into  sight,  had  moved  over  a 
vision  of  bewildering  beauty.  To  their  left  rose 
the  mountains,  forming,  it  seemed  to  them  at  the 
height  at  which  they  traveled,  an  enormous  jagged 
and  gigantic  pile,  hard-lined  as  steel,  yet  irradiated 
with  long  rays,  patches,  and  pools  of  golden  sunset 
light  alternated  by  amazing  depths  of  the  shadow 
whose  tones  ran  from  peacock  to  indigo.  Then 
from  the  foot  of  the  tumbled  pile  there  ran  out 
what  appeared  a  loosely  flung  carpet  vivid  and  yet 
a  soft  green,  patched  here  and  there  with  white 
towns,  embroideries  of  woodland,  lines  of  silver 
water.  Yet  this,  too,  was  changing  as  they  watched 
the  shadows  grow  longer  with  almost  visible  move- 
ment. New  and  strange  colors,  varying  about  a 
fixed  note  of  blue  according  to  the  nature  of  that 
with  which  the  earth  was  covered,  slowly  came  into 
being.  Here,  in  front,  now  and  again  a  patch  of 
water  glowed  suddenly,  three  thousand  feet  be- 
neath, as  it  met  the  shifting  angle  between  the  eye 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  145 

and  the  sun ;  and  beyond,  far  out  across  the  darken- 
ing plain,  shone  the  remote  line  of  the  sea,  itself 
ablaze  with  gold,  and  above  and  about  in  every 
quarter  burned  the  enormous  luminous  dome  of 
sky. 

*'  I  can't  put  it  all  accurately,"  said  Father  Jervis 
at  last.  *'  I  mean  I  can't  tell  you  off-hand  all  the 
tests  that  are  exactly  applied  to  every  case.  But 
it's  something  like  this.     .     .     ." 

He  paused. 

"  Yes,  tell  me,"  said  the  other,  still  staring  out 
at  the  softly  rolling  landscape. 

"  Well,  first,"  began  the  old  priest  slowly,  "  in 
the  last  fifty  years  we've  classified  almost  exhaus- 
tively everything  that  nature  can  do.  We  know, 
for  instance,  for  certain  that  in  certain  kinds  of 
temperaments  body  and  mind  are  in  far  greater 
sympathy  than  in  others;  and  that  if,  in  such  a 
temperament  as  this,  the  mind  can  be  fully  per- 
suaded that  such  and  such  a  thing  is  going  to  hap- 
pen —  a  thing  within  the  range  of  natural  possi- 
bility, of  course  —  it  will  happen,  merely  through 
the  action  of  the  mind  upon  the  body." 

"  Give  me  an  instance." 

"Well"  (he  hesitated  again)"  .  .  .  "well, 
I'm  not  a  physician,  and  cannot  define  accurately; 
but  there  are  certain  nervous  diseases  —  hysterical 


146  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

simulation,  nervous  affections  such  as  St.  Vitus' 
dance  —  as  well,  of  course,  as  purely  mental  dis- 
eases, such  as  certain  kinds  of  insanity — " 

'*  Oh,  those,"  said  the  other  contemptuously. 

''  Wait  a  minute.  These,  I  say,  given  the  right 
temperament  and  receptiveness  to  suggestion,  can  be 
cured  instantaneously/' 

"  Instantaneously?  " 

"  Certainly  —  given  those  conditions.  Then 
there  are  certain  other  diseases,  very  closely  related 
to  the  nervous  system,  in  which  there  have  been 
changes  of  tissue,  not  only  in  the  brain,  but  in  the 
organs  or  the  limbs.  And  these,  too,  can  be  cured 
by  mere  natural  suggestion ;  but  —  and  this  is  the 
point  —  not  instantaneously.  In  cases  of  this  kind, 
cured  in  this  way,  there  is  always  needed  a  period, 
I  won't  say  as  long  as,  but  proportionate  to,  the 
period  during  which  the  disease  has  been  develop- 
ing and  advancing.  I  forget  the  exact  proportions 
now,  but  I  think,  so  far  as  I  remember,  that  at  least 
two-thirds  of  the  time  is  required  for  recovery  by 
suggestion  as  was  occupied  by  the  growth  of  the 
disease.  Take  lupus.  That  certainly  belongs  to  the 
class  I'm  speaking  of.  Well,  lupus  has  been  cured 
in  mental  laboratories,  but  never  instantaneously,  or 
anything  like  instantaneously." 

"  Go  on,  father." 

"  Finally,  there  are  those  physical  states  that  have 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  147 

practically  nothing  to  do  directly  with  the  nervous 
system  at  all.  Take  a  broken  leg.  Of  course  the 
cure  of  a  broken  leg  is  affected  by  the  state  of  the 
nervous  system,  since  it  depends  upon  the  amount 
of  vital  energy,  the  state  of  the  blood,  and  so  on. 
But  there  are  distinct  processes  of  change  of  tissue 
that  are  bound  to  take  a  certain  fixed  period.  You 
may  —  as  has  been  proved  over  and  over  again  in 
the  mental  laboratories  —  hasten  and  direct  the  ac- 
tion of  the  nervous  energy,  so  that  a  man  under 
hypnotic  suggestion  will  improve  more  rapidly  than 
a  man  who  is  not.  But  no  amount  of  suggestion 
can  possibly  effect  a  cure  instantaneously.  Tuber- 
culosis is  another  such  thing;  certain  diseases  of  the 
heart  — " 

"  I  see.     Go  on." 

"  Well,  then,  science  has  fixed  certain  periods  in 
all  these  various  matters  which  simply  cannot  be 
lessened  beyond  a  certain  point.  And  miracle  does 
not  begin  —  authorized  miracle,  I  mean  —  unless 
these  periods  are  markedly  shortened.  Mere  men- 
tal cures,  therefore,  do  not  come  under  the  range 
of  authorized  miracle  at  all  —  though,  of  course,  in 
many  cases  where  there  has  been  little  or  no  sug- 
gestion, or  where  the  temperament  is  not  receptive, 
practically  speaking,  the  miraculous  element  is  most 
probably  present.  In  the  second  class  —  organic 
nervous  diseases  — •  no  miracle  is  proclaimed  unless 


148  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  cure  is  instantaneous,  or  very  nearly  so.  In 
the  third  class,  again,  no  miracle  is  proclaimed  un- 
less the  cure  is  either  instantaneous,  or  the  period 
of  it  very  considerable  shortened  beyond  all  known 
examples  of  natural  cure  by  suggestion." 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  that  such  cures  are  fre- 
quent?" 

The  old  priest  smiled. 

^'  Why,  of  course.  There  is  an  accumulation  of 
evidence  from  the  past  hundred  years  which  — " 

''Broken  limbs?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  there's  the  case  of  Pierre  de  Rudder,  at 
Oostacker,  in  the  nineteenth  century.  That's  the 
first  of  the  series  —  the  first,  I  mean,  that  has  been 
scientifically  examined.     It's  in  all  the  old  books." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  him?  " 

"  Leg  broken  behind  the  knee  for  eight  years." 

"  And  how  long  did  the  cure  take?  " 

"  Instantaneous." 

There  was  silence  again. 

Monsignor  was  staring  out  and  downwards  at  the 
flitting  meadow-land  far  below.  A  flock  of  white 
birds  moved  across  the  darkening  gray,  like  flying 
specks  seen  in  the  eye,  yet  it  seemed  with  extraor- 
dinary slowness  and  deliberation,  so  great  was  the 
distance  at  which  they  flew.     He  sighed. 

"  You  can  examine  the  records,"  said  the  priest 
presently ;  "  and,  better  than  that,  you  can  examine 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  149 

some  of  the  cases  for  yourself,  and  the  certificates. 
They  follow  still  the  old  system  which  Dr.  Boissaire 
began  nearly  a  century  ago." 

"What  about  Zola?"  demanded  Monsignor  ab- 
ruptly. 

''  I  beg  your  pardon?  " 

"  Zola,  the  great  French  writer.  I  thought  he 
had  .  .  .  had  advanced  some  very  sharp  crit- 
icisms of  Lourdes." 

"  Er  —  when  did  he  live  ?  " 

"  Why,  not  long  ago ;  nineteenth  century,  at  the 
end." 

Father  Jervis  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  I've  never  heard  of  him,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
thought  I  knew  Lourdes  literature  pretty  well.  I'll 
inquire." 

''  Look,"  said  the  prelate  suddenly ;  "  what's  that 
place  we're  coming  to  ?  " 

He  nodded  forward  with  his  head  to  where  vast 
white  lines  and  patches  began  to  be  visible  on  the 
lower  slopes  and  at  the  foot  of  long  spurs  that  had 
suddenly  come  into  sight  against  the  sunset. 

"  Why,  that's  Lourdes." 

(n)" 

As  the  two  priests  came  out  next  morning  from 
the  west  doors  of  the  tall  church  where  they  had 
said  their  masses,  Monsignor  stopped. 


150  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Let  me  try  to  take  it  in  a  moment,"  he  said. 

They  were  standing  on  the  highest  platform  of  the 
pile  of  three  churches  that  had  been  raised  over  a 
hundred  years  ago,  now  in  the  very  center  of  the 
enormous  city  that  had  grown  little  by  little  around 
the  sacred  place.  Beneath  them,  straight  in  front, 
approached  from  where  they  stood  by  two  vast 
sweeps  of  balustraded  steps,  lay  the  Place,  perhaps 
sixty  feet  beneath,  of  the  shape  of  an  elongated  oval, 
bounded  on  this  side  and  that  by  the  old  buildings 
where  the  doctors  used  to  have  their  examination 
rooms,  now  used  for  a  hundred  minor  purposes  con- 
nected with  the  churches  and  the  grotto.  At  the 
farther  end  of  the  Place,  behind  the  old  bronze 
statue  of  Mary,  rose  up  the  comparatively  new  Bu- 
reau de  C onstatations  —  a  great  hall  (as  the  two 
had  seen  last  night),  communicating  with  countless 
consulting  and  examination  rooms,  where  the  army 
of  State-paid  doctors  carried  on  their  work.  The 
whole  of  the  open  Place  between  these  buildings 
crawled  with  humanity  —  not  yet  packed  as  it  would 
be  by  evening  —  yet  already  sufficiently  filled  by  the 
two  ever-flowing  streams  —  the  one  passing  down- 
wards to  where  the  grotto  lays  out  of  sight  on  the 
left,  the  other  passing  up  towards  the  lower  entrance 
of  the  great  hall.  It  resembled  an  amphitheater, 
and  the  more  so,  since  the  roofs  of  the  buildings  on 
every  side,  as  well  as  the  slope  up  which  the  steps 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  151 

rose  to  the  churches,  adapted  now  as  they  were  to 
accommodate  at  least  three  hundred  thousand  spec- 
tators, were  already  beginning  to  show  groups  and 
strings  of  onlookers  who  came  up  here  to  survey 
the  city. 

On  the  right,  beyond  the  Place,  lay  the  old  town, 
sloping  up  now,  up  even  to  the  mediaeval  castle, 
which  fifty  years  ago  had  stood  in  lonely  detach- 
ment, but  now  was  faced  on  hill-top  after  hill-top, 
at  its  ow^n  level,  by  the  enormous  nursing  homes  and 
hostels,  which  under  the  direction  of  the  Religious 
Orders  had  gradually  grown  up  about  this  shrine 
of  healing,  until  now,  up  to  a  height  of  at  least  five 
hundred  feet,  the  city  of  Mary  stood  on  bastion 
after  bastion  of  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hills,  like 
some  huge  auditorium  of  white  stone,  facing  down 
towards  the  river  and  the  Holy  Place. 

Finally,  on  the  left,  immediately  to  the  left  of 
the  two  priests  who  stood  silently  looking,  fifty  feet 
below,  ran  the  sweep  of  the  Gave,  crossed  by  in- 
numerable bridges  which  gave  access  to  the  crowd- 
ing town  beyond  the  water,  where  once  had  been 
nothing  but  meadow-land  and  the  beginning  of  the 
great  southern  plain  of  France. 

There  was  an  air  of  extraordinary  peace  and 
purity  about  this  place,  thought  Monslgnor.  White- 
ness was  the  predominating  color  —  whiteness  be- 
neath, and  whiteness  running  up  high  on  the  right 


152  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

on  to  the  hills  —  and  above  the  amazing  blue  of  the 
southern  sky.  It  was  high  and  glorious  summer 
about  them,  with  a  breeze  as  intoxicating  as  wine 
and  as  fresh  as  water.  From  across  the  Place  they 
could  hear  the  quick  flapping  of  the  huge  Mary  ban- 
ner that  flew  above  the  hall,  for  there  were  no 
wheels  or  motors  here  to  crush  out  the  acuteness  of 
the  ear.  The  transference  of  the  sick  from  the  hos- 
tels above  the  town  was  carried  out  by  aeroplanes  — 
great  winged  decks,  with  awnings  above  and  at  the 
sides,  that  slid  down  as  if  on  invisible  lines,  to  the 
entrance  of  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  whence  after 
a  daily  examination  by  the  doctors  they  were  taken 
on  by  hand-litters  to  the  grotto  or  the  bathing- 
pools. 

Monsignor  heard  a  step  behind  him  as  he  stood 
and  looked,  still  pathetically  bewildered  by  all  that 
he  saw,  and  still  struggling,  in  spite  of  himself,  with 
a  new  upbreak  of  scepticism;  and  turning,  saw 
Father  Jervis  in  the  act  of  greeting  a  young  monk 
in  the  Benedictine  habit. 

"  I  knew  we  should  meet.  I  heard  you  were 
here,"  the  old  man  was  exclaiming.  "  You  remem- 
ber Monsignor  Masterman?  " 

They  shook  hands,  and  Monsignor  was  not  dis- 
appointed in  his  friend's  tact. 

''  Father  Adrian  absolutely  haunts  Lourdes  nowa- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  153 

days,"  went  on  Father  Jervis.  '*  I  wonder  his  su- 
periors allow  him.  And  how's  the  book  getting 
on?" 

The  monk  smiled.  He  was  an  exceedingly  pleas- 
ant person  to  look  upon,  with  a  thin,  refined  face 
and  large,  startlingly  blue  eyes.  He  shook  his  head 
as  he  smiled. 

**  Fm  getting  frightened,"  he  said.  '*  I  cannot 
see  with  the  theologians  in  all  points.  Well,  the 
least  said,  the  soonest  mended." 

Father  Jervis'  face  had  fallen  a  little.  There  was 
distinct  anxiety  in  his  eyes. 

"  When  will  the  book  be  out?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Fm  revising  it  for  the  last  time,"  said  the  other 
shortly.  ''  And  you,  Monsignor  ?  .  .  .  I  had 
heard  of  your  illness." 

"  Oh,  Monsignor's  nearly  himself  again.  And 
will  you  take  us  into  the  Bureau?"  asked  the  old 
priest. 

The  young  monk  nodded. 

"I  shall  be  there  all  day,"  he  said.  "Ask  for 
me  at  any  time." 

**  Monsignor  wants  to  see  for  himself.  He  wants 
to  see  a  case  straight  through.  Is  there  any- 
thing—" 

"  Why,  there's  the  very  thing,"  interrupted  the 
monk.     (He    fumbled  in  his   pocket  a  moment.)' 


154  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Yes,  here's  the  leaflet  that  was  issued  last  night." 
(He  held  out  a  printed  piece  of  paper  to  Monsig- 
nor.)     ''Read  that  through." 

The  prelate  took  it. 

"  What's  the  case?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  leaflet  will  give  you  the  details.  It's  decay 
of  the  optic  nerve  —  a  Russian  from  St.  Peters- 
burg. Both  eyes  completely  blind,  the  nerves  de- 
stroyed, and  he  saw  light  yesterday  for  the  first 
time.  He'll  be  down  from  the  Russian  hospice 
about  eleven.  We  expect  a  cure  to-day  or  to-mor- 
row." 

"  Well,"  said  Father  Jervis,  "  we  mustn't  detain 
you.     Then,  if  we  look  in  about  eleven?  " 

The  monk  nodded  and  smiled  as  he  moved  off. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said.     *'  At  eleven  then." 

Monsignor  turned  to  his  friend. 

"Well?" 

Father  Jervis  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  a  sad  business,"  he  said.  ''  That's  Dom 
Adrian  Bennett.  He's  very  daring.  He's  had  one 
warning  from  Rome;  but  he's  so  extraordinarily 
clever  that  it's  very  hard  to  silence  him.  He's  not 
exactly  heretical ;  but  he  will  work  along  lines  that 
have  already  been  decided." 

"Dear  me!     He  seems  very  charming." 

"  Certainly.  Fie  is  most  charming,  and  utterly 
sincere.     He's  got  the  entree  everywhere  here.     He 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  155 

is  a  first-rate  scientist,  by  the  way.  But,  Monsig- 
nor,  I'd  sooner  not  talk  about  him.  Do  you 
mind  ?  " 

'*  But  what's  his  subject?     Tell  me  that." 
"  It's  the  miraculous  element  in  religion,"  said 
the  priest  shortly.     "  Come,  we  must  go  to  our  cof- 
fee." 

(Ill) 

The  hall  was  already  crowded  in  every  part  as 
the  two  priests  looked  in  at  the  lower  end  a  few 
minutes  before  eleven  o'clock.  It  was  arranged 
more  or  less  like  a  theater,  with  a  broad  gangway 
running  straight  up  from  the  doors  at  one  end  to 
the  foot  of  the  stage  at  the  other.  The  stage  itself, 
with  a  statue  of  Mary  towering  at  the  back,  com- 
municated with  the  examination-rooms  behind  the 
two  doors,  one  on  either  side  of  the  image. 

"  What's  going  on?  "  whispered  Monsignor,  as  he 
glanced  up  first  on  this  side  and  that  at  the  array 
of  heads  that  listened,  and  then  at  the  two  figures 
that  occupied  the  stage. 

"  It's  a  doctor  lecturing  on  a  cure.  This  goes  on 
nearly  all  day.  We  must  get  round  to  the  back 
somehow." 

As  they  passed  in  at  last  from  the  outside  through 

the  private   door  through  which   the   doctors   and 

privileged  persons  had  access  behind  the  stage,  they 
11 


156  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

heard  a  storm  of  clapping  and  voices  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  public  hall  on  their  right. 

"  That's  finished  then.     Follow  me,  Monsignor." 

They  went  through  a  passage  or  two,  after  their 
guide  —  a  young  man  in  uniform  —  seeing  as  they 
went,  through  half-open  doors  here  and  there,  quiet 
white  rooms,  glimpses  of  men  in  white,  and  once  at 
least  a  litter  being  set  down ;  and  came  at  last  into 
what  looked  like  some  kind  of  committee-room, 
lighted  by  tall  windows  on  the  left,  with  a  wide 
horseshoe  table  behind  which  sat  perhaps  a  dozen 
men,  each  wearing  on  his  left  breast  the  red  and 
white  cross  which  marked  them  as  experts.  Oppo- 
site the  examiners,  but  half  hidden  from  the  two 
priests  by  the  back  of  his  tall  chair,  sat  the  figure 
of  a  man. 

Their  guide  went  up  to  the  end  of  the  table,  and 
almost  immediately  they  saw  Father  Adrian  stand 
up  and  beckon  to  them. 

*'  I've  kept  you  two  chairs,"  he  whispered  when 
they  came  up.  "  And  you'd  better  wear  these 
crosses.  They'll  admit  you  anywhere."  (He 
pointed  to  the  two  red  and  white  badges  that  hung 
over  the  backs  of  their  chairs.) 

"  Are  we  in  time?  " 

"  You're  a  little  late,"  whispered  the  monk.  Then 
he  turned  again  towards  the  patient,  a  typical  fair- 
haired,  bearded  Russian  with  closed  eyes,  who  at 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  157 

that  moment  was  answering  some  question  put  to 
him  by  the  presiding  doctor  in  the  center. 

The  monk  turned  again. 

''  Can  you  understand  Russian  ?  " 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 

**  Well,  I'll  tell  you  afterwards,"  said  the  other. 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  be  sitting  here,  in  this 
quiet  room,  after  the  rush  and  push  of  the  enormous 
crowds  through  which  they  had  made  their  way  this 
morning.  The  air  of  the  room  was  exceedingly 
business-like,  and  not  in  the  least  even  suggestive  of 
religion,  except  in  the  matter  of  a  single  statue  of 
Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  on  a  bracket  on  the  w^all 
above  the  President's  head.  And  these  dozen  men 
who  sat  here  seemed  quietly  business-like,  too.  They 
sat  here,  men  of  various  ages  and  nationalities,  all 
in  the  thin  white  doctor's  dress,  with  papers  spread 
before  them,  and  a  few  strange  instruments  scat- 
tered here  and  there,  leaning  forward  or  leaning 
back,  but  all  intently  listening  to  and  watching  the 
Russian,  who,  still  with  closed  eyes,  answered  the 
short  questions  put  to  him  continuously  by  the  Pres- 
ident. There  seemed  no  religious  excitement  even 
in  the  air;  the  atmosphere  was  one,  rather,  of  simple 
science. 

There  seemed  something  faintly   familiar  in  all 
this  to  the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory.     .     . 
Certainly  he  had  known  of  Lourdes  as  soon  as  it 


158  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

was  mentioned  to  him,  and  he  seemed  now  to  re- 
member that  some  such  claim  to  be  perfectly  sci- 
entific had  always  been  made  by  the  authorities  of 
the  place.  But  he  had  supposed,  somehow,  that  the 
claim  was  a  false  one. 

The  Russian  suddenly  rose. 

*'  Well !  "  whispered  Monsignor  sharply,  as  the 
doctors  began  to  talk. 

The  monk  smiled. 

"  He's  just  said  an  interesting  thing.  The  Presi- 
dent asked  him  just  now  whether  he  had  seen  any- 
thing of  the  crowds  as  he  came  down  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Yes?" 

"  He  said  that  people  looked  like  trees  moving 
about.  .  .  .  Oh,  no !  he  didn't  know  he  was 
making  a  quotation.  Look !  he's  going  off  down  to 
the  grotto.  He'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour  to  re- 
port." 

Monsignor  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

''  And  you  tell  me  that  the  optic  nerves  were  de- 
stroyed ?  " 

The  monk  looked  at  him  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

''  Certainly.  He  was  examined  on  Tuesday, 
when  he  came.     To-day's  Friday." 

"  And  you  believe  he'll  be  cured?  " 

''  Lshall  be  very  much  surprised  if  he's  not." 

There  was  a  stir  by  the  door  as  the  Russian  dis- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  159 

appeared.  A  young,  bright-eyed  doctor  looked  in 
and  nodded,  and  the  next  instant  a  brancardier  ap- 
peared, followed  by  a  litter. 

''  But  how  have  you  time  to  examine  all  these 
thousands  of  cases?"  asked  the  prelate,  watching 
the  litter  advance. 

"  Oh,  not  one  in  a  hundred  comes  through  to  us 
here.  Besides,  this  is  only  one  of  a  dozen  commit- 
tee-rooms. It's  only  the  most  sensational  cases  — 
where  there's  real  organic  injury  of  a  really  serious 
kind  —  that  ever  come  at  all  before  the  highest 
courts.  Cases,  I  mean,  where,  if  there's  a  cure, 
the  publication  of  the  miracle  follows  as  a  matter 
of  course.  .  .  .  What's  this  case,  I  wonder?" 
he  ended  sharply,  glancing  down  at  the  printed 
paper  before  him,  and  then  up  again  at  the  litter 
that  was  being  arranged. 

Monsignor  looked,  too,  at  the  paper  that  lay  be- 
fore him.  Some  thirty  paragraphs,  carefully  num- 
bered, dated,  and  signed,  gave,  as  it  seemed,  a  list 
of  the  cases  to  be  examined. 

"  Number  fourteen,"  murmured  the  monk. 

Number  fourteen,  it  appeared,  was  a  case  of  frac- 
tured spine  —  a  young  girl,  aged  sixteen;  a  Ger- 
man. The  accident  had  happened  four  months 
before.  The  notes,  signed  by  half  a  dozen  names, 
described  the  complete  paralysis  below  the  waist, 
with  a  few  other  medical  details. 


i5o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Monsignor  looked  again  at  the  girl  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  guarded  by  the  brancardiers  and  a 
couple  of  doctors,  while  the  monk  talked  to  him 
rapidly  in  Latin.  He  saw  her  closed  eyes  and  color- 
less lips. 

"  This  case  has  attracted  a  good  deal  of  atten- 
tion," whispered  the  monk.  "  The  Emperor's  said 
to  be  interested  in  it,  through  one  of  the  ladies  of 
the  court,  whose  servant  the  girl  was.  It's  interest- 
ing for  two  or  three  reasons.  First,  the  fracture 
is  complete,  and  it's  marvelous  she  hasn't  died. 
Then  it's  been  taken  up  as  a  kind  of  test  case  by  a 
group  of  materialists  in  Berlin.  They've  taken  it 
up,  because  the  girl  has  declared  again  and  again 
that  she  is  perfectly  certain  she  will  be  cured  at 
Lourdes.  She  claims  to  have  had  a  vision  of  Our 
Lady,  who  told  her  so.  Her  father's  a  freethinker, 
by  the  w^ay,  and  has  only  finally  allowed  her  to 
come  so  that  he  can  use  her  as  an  argument  after- 
wards." 

"Who  has  examined  her?"  asked  Monsignor 
sharply. 

^'  She  was  examined  last  night  on  her  arrival,  and 
again  this  morning.  Dr.  Meurot,  the  President 
here  "  (he  indicated  with  his  head  the  doctor  who 
sat  three  places  off,  who  w^as  putting  his  questions 
rapidly  to  the  two  attending  physicians) — "Dr. 
Meurot  examined  her  himself  early  this  morning. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  i6i 

This  is  just  the  formal  process  before  she  goes  to  the 
grotto.  The  fracture  is  complete.  It's  between  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  vertebrae." 

"  And  you  think  she'll  be  cured?  " 

The  monk  smiled. 

**Who  can  tell?"  he  said.  ''We've  only  had 
one  case  before,  and  the  papers  on  that  are  not  quite 
in  order,  though  it's  commonly  believed  to  be  gen- 
uine." 

"But  it's  possible?" 

"  Oh,  certainly.  And  her  own  conviction  is  ab- 
solute.    It'll  be  interesting." 

"  You  seem  to  take  it  pretty  easily,"  murmured 
the  prelate. 

*'  Oh,  the  facts  are  established  a  hundred  times 
over  —  the  facts,  I  mean,  that  cures  take  place  here 
which  are  not  even  approached  in  mental  labora- 
tories.    But  — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  movement  of  the 
brancardiers. 

*'  See,  they're  removing  her,"  he  said.  "  Now, 
what'U  you  do,  Monsignor?  Will  you  go  down  to 
the  grotto,  or  would  you  sooner  watch  a  few  more 
cases?  " 

"  I  think  I'd  sooner  stay  here,"  said  the  other,  ''  at 
least  for  an  hour  or  two," 


i62  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

(IV): 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  evening  procession  and  of 
the  Benediction  of  the  Sick. 

All  day  long  the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory 
had  gone  to  and  fro  with  his  companions,  each 
wearing  the  little  badge  that  gave  them  entrance 
everywhere ;  they  had  lunched  with  Dr.  Meurot  him- 
self. 

If  Monsignor  Masterman  had  been  impressed  by 
the  social  power  of  Catholicism  at  Versailles,  and 
by  its  religious  reality  in  Rome,  he  was  ten  thou- 
sand times  more  impressed  by  its  scientific  courage 
here  in  Lourdes.  For  here  religion  seemed  to  have 
stepped  down  into  an  arena  hitherto  (as  he  fancied) 
restricted  to  the  play  of  physical  forces.  She  had 
laid  aside  her  oracular  claims,  her  comparatively 
unsupported  assertions  of  her  own  divinity;  had 
flung  off  her  robes  of  state  and  authority;  and  was 
competing  here  on  equal  terms  with  the  masters  of 
natural  law  —  more,  she  was  accepted  by  them  as 
their  mistress.  For  there  seemed  nothing  from 
which  she  shrank.  She  accepted  all  who  came  to 
her  desiring  her  help;  she  made  no  arbitrary  dis- 
tinctions to  cover  her  own  incapacities.  Her  one 
practical  desire  was  to  heal  the  sick;  her  one  theo- 
retical interest  to  fix  more  and  more  precisely,  little 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  163 

by  little,  the  exact  line  at  which  nature  ended  and 
supernature  began.  And,  if  human  evidence  went 
for  anything  —  if  the  volumes  of  radiophotography 
and  sworn  testimony  went  for  anything,  she  had 
established  a  thousand  times  over  during  the  pre- 
ceding half-century  that  under  her  aegis,  and  hers 
alone,  healing  and  reconstituting  forces  were  at 
work  to  which  no  merely  natural  mental  science 
could  furnish  any  parallels.  All  the  old  quarrels 
of  a  century  ago  seemed  at  an  end.  There  was  no 
longer  any  dispute  as  to  the  larger  facts.  All  that 
now  remained  to  be  done  by  this  huge  organization 
of  international  experts  was  to  define  more  and 
more  closely  precisely  where  the  line  lay  between 
the  two  worlds.  All  cures  that  could  be  even  re- 
motely paralleled  in  the  mental  laboratories  were 
dismissed  as  not  evidently  supernatural;  all  those 
which  could  not  be  so  paralleled  were  recorded,  with 
the  most  minute  detail,  under  the  sworn  testimonies 
of  doctors  who  had  examined  the  patients  immedi- 
ately before  and  immediately  after  the  cure  itself. 
In  a  series  of  libraries  that  abutted  on  the  Place, 
Monsignor  Masterman,  under  the  guidance  of  Dom 
Adrian  Bennett,  had  spent  a  couple  of  hours  this 
afternoon  in  examining  the  most  striking  of  the 
records  and  photographs  preserved  there.  He  was 
amazed  to  find  that  even  by  the  end  of  the  nine- 


i64  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

teenth  century  cures  had  taken  place  for  which  the 
most  modern  scientists  could  find  no  natural  ex- 
planation. 

Ten  minutes  ago  he  had  taken  his  place  in  the 
procession  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  with  the 
monk's  last  words  still  in  his  head. 

"  It  is  during  the  procession  itself,"  he  had  said, 
*'  that  the  work  is  done.  We  lay  aside  all  deliberate 
knowledge  as  the  Angelus  rings,  and  give  ourselves 
up  to  faith." 

And  now  the  procession  had  started,  and  already, 
it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  begun  to  understand.  It 
was  as  he  himself  emerged,  a  few  paces  in  front  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  itself,  walking  with  the  prel- 
ates, that  that  understanding  reached  its  climax. 
He  paused  at  the  head  of  the  steps,  to  wait  for  the 
canopy  to  come  through,  and  his  heart  rose  within 
him  so  mightily  that  it  was  all  he  could  do  not  to 
cry  out. 

Beneath  him,  seen  now  from  the  opposite  end 
from  which  he  had  looked  this  morning,  lay  the 
Place,  under  a  wholly  different  appearance.  The 
center  of  the  great  oval  was  cleared,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  huge  pulpit,  surmounted  by  a  circular 
sounding-board,  that  stood  in  the  middle.  But 
round  this  empty  space  rose,  in  tier  after  tier, 
masses  of  humanity  beyond  all  reckoning,  up  and 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  165 

up,  as  on  the  sides  of  an  enormous  amphitheater, 
as  far  as  the  highest  roofs  of  the  highest  buildings 
that  looked  on  to  the  space.  Before  him  rose  the 
pile  of  churches,  and  here,  too,  on  every  platform, 
roof  and  stair,  swarmed  the  spectators.  The  doors 
of  the  three  churches  were  flung  wide,  and  far 
within,  in  the  lighted  interiors,  lay  the  heads  of 
countless  crowds,  as  cobble-stones,  seen  in  perspec- 
tive. The  whole  Place  was  in  shadow  now,  as  the 
sun  had  just  gone  down,  but  the  sky  was  still  alight 
overhead,  a  vast  tender-colored  vault,  as  sweet  as 
a  benediction.  Here  and  there,  in  the  illimitable 
blue,  like  crumbs  of  diamond  dust,  gleamed  the 
first  stars  of  evening. 

And  from  this  vast  multitude,  swayed  by  a  white 
figure  beneath  the  pulpit,  articulate  now  as  the  lis- 
tener emerged,  rose  up  a  song  to  Mary,  as  from  one 
soft  and  gigantic  voice,  appealing  to  Her  Presence 
who  for  over  a  century  and  a  half,  it  seemed,  had 
chosen  to  dwell  here  by  virtue  and  influence,  the 
Great  Mother  of  the  redeemed  and  the  Consoler  of 
the  afflicted,  whose  Divine  Son  was  even  now  on 
His  way,  as  at  Cana  itself,  to  turn  the  water  of  sor- 
row into  the  wine  of  joy.  .  .  .  Then,  as  the 
canopy  came  out,  at  an  imperious  gesture  from  the 
tiny  swaying  figure,  the  music  ceased ;  great  trumpets 
sounded  a  phrase;  there  was  a  rustle  and  a  move- 


1 66  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

ment  as  of  a  breaking  wave  as  the  crowds  knelt; 
and  the  Pange  Lingua  rose  up  in  solemn  adora- 
tion.    .     .     . 

As  he  came  down  the  steps,  his  eyes  quick  with 
tears,  he  saw  for  the  first  time  the  lines  of  the  sick 
in  the  place  to  which  he  had  been  told  to  look. 
There  they  lay,  some  four  thousand  in  number, 
placed  side  by  side  in  two  great  circling  rows  round 
the  whole  arena,  a  fringe  of  pain  to  the  exultant 
crowds,  in  litters  laid  so  close  together  that  they 
seemed  but  two  great  continuous  beds,  and  between 
them  the  broad  flower-strewn  platform  along  which 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  should  pass  by.  There  they  lay, 
all  of  them  bathed  to-day  in  the  strange  water  that 
had  sprung  up  an  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  un- 
der the  fingers  of  a  peasant  child,  waiting  for  the 
sacramental  advent  of  Him  who  had  made  both 
that  water  and  those  for  whose  healing  it  was  de- 
signed. 

And  yet  not  all  were  cured  —  not  perhaps  one 
in  ten  of  all  who  came  in  confidence.  That  surely 
was  wonderful.  .  .  .  Was  it  then  that  that 
same  Sovereign  Power  who  had  permitted  the  pain 
elected  to  retain  His  own  sovereignty,  and  to  show 
that  the  Lawgiver  was  fettered  by  no  law?  One 
thing  at  least  was  certain,  if  those  records  which  the 
priest  had  examined  this  morning  were  to  be  be- 
lieved, that  no  receptiveness  of  temperament,  no 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  167 

subjective  expectancy  of  cure,  guaranteed  that  the 
cure  would  take  place.  Natures  that  had  responded 
marvelously  in  the  mental  laboratories  seemed  in- 
effective here ;  natures  that  were  inert  and  immova- 
ble under  the  influence  of  sympathetic  science  leapt 
up  here  to  meet  the  call  of  some  Voice  whose  very 
existence  a  hundred  years  ago  had  been  in  doubt. 

The  front  of  the  long  procession,  Monsignor  saw, 
had  reached  now  the  doors  of  the  basilica,  and 
would  presently,  after  making  the  complete  round, 
pour  down  into  the  arena  to  allow  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament to  move  more  quickly.  It  was  an  exquisite 
sight,  even  from  here,  as  the  prelate  set  foot  on  the 
platform  and  began  to  move  to  the  left.  The  long 
lines  of  tapers,  four  deep,  went  like  some  great 
serpent,  rippling  with  light,  above  the  heads  of  the 
sick;  and  here  and  there  in  the  slopes  of  the 
crowded  spectators  shone  out  other  lights,  steady 
as  stars  in  the  motionless  half-lit  evening  air.  Then, 
as  he  went,  slowly,  pace  by  pace,  he  remembered 
the  sick  and  glanced  down,  as  the  music  on  a  sud- 
den ceased. 

Ah !  there  they  lay,  those  living  crucifixes 
.  .  .  shrouded  in  white,  their  faces  on  either  side 
turned  inwards  that  they  might  see  their  Lord. 
.  .  .  There  lay  a  woman,  her  face  shriveled  with 
some  internal  horror  —  some  appalling  disease 
which  even  the  science  of  these  days  dared  not  han- 


i68  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

die,  or  at  least  had  not;  her  large  eyes  staring  with 
an  almost  terrible  intensity,  fixed,  it  seemed,  in  her 
head,  yet  waiting  for  the  Vision  that  even  now 
might  make  her  whole.  There  a  child  tossed  and 
moaned  and  turned  away  his  head.  There  an  old 
man  crouched  forward  upon  his  litter,  held  up  on 
either  side  by  two  men  in  the  uniform  of  the  bran- 
cardiers.  .  .  .  And  so,  in  endless  lines,  they 
lay ;  from  every  nation  under  heaven :  Chinese  were 
there,  he  saw,  and  negroes;  and  the  very  air  in 
which  he  walked  seemed  alight  with  pain  and  long- 
ing. 

A  great  voice  broke  in  suddenly  on  his  musings ; 
and,  before  he  could  fix  his  attention  as  to  what  it 
said,  the  words  were  taken  up  by  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  throats  —  a  short,  fervent  sentence 
that  rent  the  air  like  a  thunder-peal.  Ah!  he  re- 
membered now.  These  were  the  old  French 
prayers,  consecrated  by  a  century  of  use;  and  as  he 
passed  on,  slowly,  step  by  step,  watching  now  with 
a  backward  glance  the  blessing  of  the  sick  that  had 
just  begun  —  the  sign  of  the  cross  made  with  the 
light  golden  monstrance  by  the  bishop  who  carried 
it  —  now  the  agonized  eyes  of  expectation  that 
waited  for  their  turn,  he,  too,  began  to  hear,  and  to 
take  up  with  his  own  voice  those  piteous  cries  for 
help. 

'^  Jesu!  heal  our  sick.     .     .     .     Jesu!  grant  that  zve 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  169 

may  see  —^  may  hear  —  may  walk.  .  .  .  Thovi 
art  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.  .  .  .  Lord! 
I  believe;  help  Thou  mine  unbelief.^'  Then  with 
an  overwhelming  triumph :  ""  Hosanna  to  the  Son 
of  David!  Hosanna,  Hosanna!''  Then  again, 
soft  and  rumbhng :  ""  O  Mary,  conceived  without 
sin,  hear  us  who  have  recourse  to  thee.'' 

The  sense  of  a  great  circumambient  Power  grew 
upon  him  at  each  instant,  sacramentaHzed,  it  seemed, 
by  the  solemn  evening  light,  and  evoked  by  this  tense 
ardor  of  half  a  million  souls,  and  focused  behind 
him  in  one  looming  point.     .     .     . 

Ah !  there  was  the  first  miracle !  .  .  .  A  cry 
behind  him,  an  eddy  in  the  circle  of  the  sick  and 
the  waiting  attendants,  a  figure  with  shrouding  linen 
fallen  from  breast  and  outstretched  arms,  and  then 
a  roar,  mighty  beyond  reckoning,  as  the  whole  am- 
phitheater swayed  and  cried  out  in  exultation.  He 
saw  as  in  a  vision  the  rush  of  doctors  to  the  place, 
and  the  gesticulating  figures  that  held  back  the 
crowd  behind  the  barrier.  Then  a  great  moan  of 
relief;  and  a  profound  silence  as  the  miracule 
kneeled  again  beside  the  litter  which  had  borne  him. 
Then  again  the  canopy  moved  on ;  and  the  passion- 
ate voice  cried,  followed  in  an  instant  by  the  roar 
of  response: 

''  Hosanna  to  the  Son  of  David." 


170  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

It  was  half-way  round,  at  the  foot  of  the  church 
steps,  that  the  German  girl  was  laid ;  and  as  the 
prelates  drew  near  Monsignor  looked  rapidly  to  this 
side  and  that  to  identify  her. 

Ah!  there  she  lay,  still  with  closed  patient  eyes 
and  colorless  face,  in  the  outer  circle  facing  inwards 
towards  the  pulpit.  A  doctor  knelt  on  either  side  of 
her  —  one  of  them  the  3^oung  man  who  had  an- 
nounced her  coming  into  the  hall  this  morning,  with 
a  rosary  between  his  fingers.  It  was  known  to  the 
crowd  generally,  Monsignor  had  learnt,  that  her 
case  was  exceptional;  but  it  had  been  kept  from 
them  as  to  where  she  would  lie,  for  fear  that  the 
excitement  might  be  too  much  concentrated. 

He  looked  at  her  again,  intently  and  carefully  — 
at  that  waxen,  fallen  face,  her  helpless  hands  clasped 
across  her  breast  with  a  string  of  beads  interwoven 
within  them;  and  even  as  he  looked  distrust  once 
more  surged  within  him.  It  was  impossible,  he  told 
himself  —  in  spite  of  what  he  had  seen  that  day,  in 
spite  of  that  score  of  leaping  figures  and  the  infec- 
tious roar  that  more  than  twenty  times  in  that  short 
journey  had  set  his  pulses  a-beat.  .  .  .  He 
passed  her,  quickening  his  steps  a  little ;  then  faced 
about  and  watched. 

Slowly  came  the  canopy.  Its  four  bearers 
sweated  visibly  with  the  effort ;  and  the  face  of  the 
bishop   who    bore    the   monstrance   was    pale    and 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  171 

streaked  with  moisture  from  the  countless  move- 
ments he  had  made.  Behind  him  came  row  after 
row  of  downcast  faces,  men  and  women  of  every 
reHgious  order  on  earth,  and  the  tapers  seen  in 
perspective  appeared  as  four  almost  continuous  wav- 
ing lines  of  soft  light. 

There  had  been  a  longer  pause  than  usual  since 
the  last  exulting  cry  of  a  sick  man  healed;  and  the 
silence  between  the  cries  from  the  pulpit  grew  con- 
tinually more  acute.     And  yet  nothing  happened. 

The  bishop  was  signing  now  outwards  over  a  man 
who  lay  next  the  German,  with  his  face  altogether 
hidden  in  a  white  and  loathsomely  suggestive  mask ; 
but  there  was  no  stir  in  answer.  The  bishop  turned 
inwards  and  signed  over  a  woman,  and  again  there 
was  no  movement. 

"  Thou  art  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  cried 
the  voice  from  the  pulpit. 

'^  Thou  art  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  an- 
swered the  amphitheater,  as  the  bishop  turned  again 
outwards. 

Monsignor  heard  him  sigh  with  the  effort,  and 
with  the  consciousness  too,  perhaps,  of  whom  it 
was  that  lay  here;  he  lifted  the  monstrance;  the 
eyes  of  the  girl  opened.  As  he  signed  to  left 
and  right  she  smiled.  As  he  brought  the  mon- 
strance back  she  unclasped  her  hands  and  sat  up. 

12 


172  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

(V) 

The  three  priests  stood  together  that  evening  on 
the  high  roof  of  a  Carmehte  priory,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  half  a  mile  away,  yet  opposite  the 
grotto,  as  the  German  girl  came  down  to  make  her 
thanksgiving. 

From  where  they  stood  it  was  impossible  to  make 
out  a  single  detail  of  that  at  which  they  looked. 
The  priory  stood  on  high  ground,  itself  towering 
above  the  crowded  roofs  that  lay  between  them  and 
the  river;  and  opposite  rose  up  the  masses  of  the 
hill  at  the  foot  of  which  was  the  sacred  place  itself. 

It  resembled  to-night  a  picture  all  of  fire.  The 
churches  on  the  left  were  outlined  all  in  light,  up 
to  the  last  high  line  of  roof  against  the  dark  star- 
light sky;  and  upon  the  spaces  in  between  lay  the 
soft  glow  from  the  tens  of  thousands  of  torches  that 
the  crowds  carried  beneath.  Above  the  grotto  the 
precipitous  face  of  the  cliff  showed  black  and  som- 
ber, except  where  the  zigzag  paths  shone  out  in 
liquid  wondering  lines,  where  the  folks  stood  packed 
together,  .unseeing,  yet  content  to  be  present.  In 
front,  at  the  foot,  over  the  lake  of  fire  where  the 
main  body  of  worshipers  stood,  glowed  softly  the 
cavern  where  Mary's  feet  had  once  rested,  and  where 
her  power  had  lived  now  far  beyond  the  memory  of 
the  oldest  man  present. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  173 

From  this  distance  few  sounds  could  be  heard 
except  the  steady  murmur  of  voices  of  those  count- 
less thousands.  It  was  as  the  steady  roll  of  far-off 
wheels  or  of  the  tide  coming  in  over  a  rocky  beach; 
and  even  the  sudden  roar  of  welcome  and  triumph 
that  announced  that  the  little  procession  had  left  the 
Place  was  soft  and  harmonious.  There  followed 
a  long  pause. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  trumpets  rang  out,  clear  as 
silver,  sharpened  and  reverberated  by  the  rocks  from 
which  they  sounded,  and  like  the  voice  of  a  dream- 
ing giant,  came  the  great  words,  articulate  and  dis- 
tinct :  — 

^^  Magnificat:  anima  mea  Dominum'* 

"  And  you,  Monsignor,"  asked  Dom  Adrian,  as 
they  stood  half  an  hour  later,  still  watching  the 
lines  of  light  writhe  this  way  and  that  as  the  crowds 
went  home,  "  you  have  asked  Our  Lady  to  give  you 
back  your  memory  ?  " 

"  I  was  at  the  grotto  this  afternoon,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  not  for  me." 

"  Then  there  will  be  something  better  instead," 
smiled  the  young  monk. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

44T^O  you  go  back  to  England  to-morrow?  "  said 

"^^^  Father  Adrian,  as  they  sat  a  night  or  two 
later  in  the  guest-room  of  the  French  Benedictines, 
where  the  monk  was  staying. 

"  We  start  to-morrow  night,"  said  the  old  priest. 
"  Monsignor  is  infinitely  better,  and  w^e  must  both 
get  back  to  work.     And  you?  " 

"  I  stay  here  to  finish  the  revising  of  my  book," 
said  the  monk  quietly. 

The  man  who  had  lost  his  memory  had  piled  im- 
pression on  impression  during  the  last  forty-eight 
hours.  There  was  first  the  case  of  the  German  girl. 
She  had  been  examined  by  the  same  doctors  as  those 
who  had  certified  to  her  state  half  an  hour  before 
the  cure,  and  the  result  had  been  telegraphed  over 
the  entire  civilized  world.  The  fracture  was  com- 
pletely repaired;  and  although  she  was  still  weak 
from  her  long  illness,  she  gained  strength  every 
hour.  Then  there  was  the  case  of  the  Russian. 
He,  too,  had  received  back  his  sight,  although  not 
instantaneously;  it  had  come  to  him  step  by  step. 
An  hour  ago  he  had  been  pronounced  healed,  and 

174 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  175 

had  passed  the  usual  tests  in  the  examination-rooms. 
But  these  cases,  and  others  Hke  them  which  the 
priests  had  investigated,  were  only  a  part  of  the 
total  weight  of  impressions  which  Monsignor  Mas- 
terman  had  received.  He  had  seen  here  for  him- 
self a  relation  between  Science  and  Faith  —  a  co- 
operation between  them  with  the  exigencies  of  each 
duly  weighed  and  observed  by  them  both  —  which 
set  nature  and  supernature  before  him  in  a  com- 
pletely new  light.  As  Mr.  Manners  had  said  at 
Westminster  a  week  or  two  before,  the  two  seemed 
to  have  met  at  last,  each  working  from  different 
quarters,  on  a  platform  on  which  they  could  work 
side  by  side.  The  facts  were  no  longer  denied  by 
either  party.  Science  allowed  for  the  mysteries  of 
Faith;  Faith  recognized  the  achievements  of  Sci- 
ence. Each  granted  that  the  other  possessed  a  per- 
fectly legitimate  sphere  of  action  in  which  the  meth- 
ods proper  to  that  sphere  were  imperative  and  final. 
The  scientist  accepted  the  fact  that  Religion  had  a 
right  to  speak  in  matters  that  lay  beyond  scientific 
data ;  the  theologian  no  longer  denounced  as  fraudu- 
lent or  disingenuous  the  claims  of  the  scientist  to 
exercise  powers  that  were  at  last  found  to  be  nat- 
ural. Neither  needed  to  establish  his  own  position 
by  attacking  that  of  his  partner,  and  the  two  ac- 
cordingly, without  prejudice  or  passion,  worked  to- 
gether to   define  yet    further  that  ever-narrowing 


176  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

range  of  ground  between  the  two  worlds  which  up 
to  the  present  remained  unmapped.  Suggestion,  for 
example,  acting  upon  the  mutual  relations  of  body 
and  mind,  was  recognized  by  the  theologian  as  a 
force  sufficient  to  produce  phenomena  which  in 
earlier  days  he  had  claimed  as  evidently  supernatu- 
ral. And,  on  the  other  side,  the  scientist  no  longer 
made  wild  acts  of  faith  in  nature,  in  attributing  to 
her  achievements  which  he  could  not  for  an  instant 
parallel  by  any  deliberate  experiment.  Li  a  word, 
the  scientist  repeated,  "  I  believe  in  God  " ;  and  the 
theologian,  "  I  recognize  Nature." 

Monsignor  sat  apart  in  silence,  while  the  others 
talked. 

He  had  thought  in  Rome  that  he  had  reached  in- 
terior conviction;  he  understood  now  in  Lourdes 
that  his  conviction  had  not  gone  so  deep  as  he  had 
fancied.  He  had  learned  in  Versailles  that  the 
Church  could  reorganize  society,  in  Rome  that  she 
could  reconcile  nations;  he  had  seen  finally  in 
Lourdes  that  she  could  resolve  philosophies. 

And  this  very  discovery  made  him  the  more 
timid.  For  he  began  to  wonder  whether  there  were 
not  yet  further  discoveries  which  he  would  have  to 
make  —  workings  out  and  illustrations  of  the  princi- 
ples he  had  begun  to  perceive.  How,  for  example, 
he  began  to  ask  himself,  would  the  Church  deal 
with   those   who   did   not   recognize   her   claims  — 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  177 

those  solitary  individuals  or  groups  here  and  there 
who,  he  knew,  still  clung  pathetically  to  the  old 
dreams  of  the  beginning  of  the  century  —  to  the 
phantom  of  independent  thought  and  the  intoxi- 
cating nightmare  of  democratic  government?  It 
was  certain  now  that  these  things  were  dreams  — 
that  it  was  ludicrously  absurd  to  imagine  that  a  man 
could  profitably  detach  himself  from  Revelation  and 
the  stream  of  tradition  and  development  that  flowed 
from  it;  that  it  was  ridiculous  to  turn  creation  up- 
side-down and  to  attempt  to  govern  the  educated  few 
by  the  uneducated  many.  Yet  people  did  occasion- 
ally hold  impossible  and  absurd  theories.  .  .  . 
How,  then,  would  these  be  treated  by  the  Church 
when  once  her  power  had  been  finally  consolidated  ? 
How  was  she  to  reconcile  the  gentleness  of  the 
Christian  spirit  with  the  dogmatism  of  the  Christian 
claim?  .  .  .  He  recalled  one  or  two  hints  that 
Father  Jervis  had  let  drop,  and  he  was  conscious  of 
a  touch  of  fear. 

He  woke  up  to  externals  again  at  the  sound  of  a 
sentence  or  two  from  the  monk. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  What  was 
that?" 

'*  I  was  saying  that  the  news  from  Germany  is 
disquieting." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh !    nothing    definite.     They    expect    trouble. 


178  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

They  say  that  the  Emperor  is  extraordinarily  in- 
terested in  this  girl's  case,  and  that  the  Socialists  of 
Berlin  are  watching  him.  Berlin  is  their  last  strong- 
hold, you  know." 

"  By  the  way,"  interrupted  Father  Jervis  sud- 
denly, "  I've  inquired  about  that  man  with  the  curi- 
ous name  —  Zola.  I  find  he  had  quite  a  vogue  at 
one  time.  And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  believe 
Manners  mentioned  him." 

''Zola?"  mused  the  monk.  ''Yes,  I'm  nearly 
sure  I've  heard  of  him.  Wasn't  he  an  Eliza- 
bethan?" 

"  No,  no.  He  died  at  the  end  of  the  last  century. 
I  find  he  did  write  a  little  romance  about  Lourdes. 
There  was  even  a  copy  in  the  library  here.  I  hadn't 
time  to  look  at  it;  but  M.  Meurot  told  me  it  was 
one  of  those  odd  little  attacks  on  religion  that  were 
popular  once.     That's  all  I  could  find  out." 

Monsignor  compressed  his  lips.  Somewhere  out 
of  his  abysmal  memory  there  lurked  a  consciousness 
that  Zola  had  once  been  of  some  importance;  but 
he  could  add  nothing  to  the  discussion. 

Dom  Adrian  stood  up  and  stretched  himself. 

"It's  time  for  bed,"  he  said.  "Look"  (he 
nodded  towards  the  window),  "the  devotions  are 
just  ending." 

From  out  of  the  luminous  gulf  beneath,  beyond 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  179 

the  tiers  of  roofs  that  lay,  step-like,  between  this 
hostel  and  the  river,  rose  up  that  undying  song  of 
Lourdes  —  that  strange,  haunting  old  melody  of 
the  story  of  Bernadette,  that  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years  had  been  sung  in  this  place  —  a  ballad- 
like song,  without  grace  of  music  or  art,  which  yet 
has  so  wonderful  an  affinity  with  the  old  carols  of 
Christendom,  which  yet  is  so  unforgettable  and  so 
affecting.  As  the  three  stood  side  by  side  looking 
out  of  the  window  they  saw  the  serpent  of  fire,  that 
rope-coil  of  tapers  that,  stretching  round  the  entire 
Place  J  humped  over  the  flights  of  steps  and  the  plat- 
forms set  amongst  the  churches,  writhes  incessantly 
on  itself.  But,  even  as  they  watched,  the  serpent 
grew  dim  and  patchy,  and  the  lights  began  to  go 
out,  as  group  after  group  broke  away  home- 
wards. They  had  wished  their  Mother  good  night, 
there  in  that  great  French  town  which  has  so 
wonderful  an  aroma  of  little  Nazareth;  they 
had  sung  their  thanksgivings;  they  had  offered 
their  prayers.  Now  it  was  time  to  sleep  under 
Her  protection,  who  was  the  Mother  both  of  God 
and  man.     .     .     . 

"  Well,  good  night,"  said  Monsignor.  ''  We  shall 
meet  in  London." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  the  young  monk  gravely. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  young  man  will  be  in  trouble," 


i8o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

said  Father  Jervis  softly,  as  they  came  down  the 
steps.     "  His  book,  you  know." 

"Eh?" 

"  Well,  it's  best  not  to  talk  of  it.  We  shall  soon 
know.     He's  as  brave  as  a  lion." 


PART  II 


M 


CHAPTER  I 

(I) 
ONSIGNOR  MASTERMAN  sat  in  his  room 
at  Westminster,  busy  at  his  correspondence. 
A  week  had  passed  since  his  return,  and  he  had 
made     extraordinary     progress.     Even     his     face 
showed  it.     The  piteous,  bewildered  look  that  he 
had  worn,  as  he  first  realized  little  by  little  how 
completely  out  of  touch  he  was  with  the  world  in 
which  he  had  found  himself  after  his  lapse  of  mem- 
ory, had  wholly  disappeared;  and  in  its  place  was 
the  keen,  bright-eyed  intelligence  of  a  typical  ec- 
clesiastic.    It   was   not   that   his  memory   had   re- 
turned.    Still,    behind    his    sudden    awakening    in 
Hyde  Park,  all  was  a  misty  blank,  from  which  faces 
and  places  and  even  phrases  started  out,   for  the 
most  part  unverifiable.     Yet  it  seemed  both  to  him 
and  to  those  about  him  that  he  had  an  amazing  fa- 
cility in  gathering  up  the  broken  threads.     He  had 
spent  three  or   four   days,   after  his   return   from 
Lourdes,  closeted  in  private  with  Father  Jervis  or 
the  Cardinal,  and  had  found  himself  at  last  capable 
of  readmitting  his  secretaries  and  of  taking  up  his 
work  again.     The  world  in  general  had  been  in- 

183 


i84  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

formed  of  his  nervous  breakdown,  so  that  on  the 
few  occasions  when  he  seemed  to  suffer  small  lapses 
of  memory  no  great  surprise  was  felt. 

He  found,  of  course,  a  state  of  affairs  that  as- 
tonished him  enormously.  For  example,  he  dis- 
covered that  as  the  Cardinal's  secretary  he  was  an 
extremely  important  person  in  the  country.  He  had 
not  yet  ventured  much  on  private  interviews  — 
these  were  for  the  present  chiefly  conducted  by  the 
Cardinal,  with  himself  present;  but  his  correspond- 
ence showed  him  that  his  good  w^ord  was  worth 
having,  even  by  men  who  were  foremost  in  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  day.  There  was,  for  instance,  an 
immense  amount  of  work  to  be  done  on  the  subject 
of  the  relations  of  Church  and  State;  for  the 
Church,  it  must  be  remembered,  while  not  actually 
established,  stood  for  the  whole  religious  sentiment 
of  the  country,  and  must  be  consulted  on  every 
measure  of  importance.  There  was,  further,  the 
matter  of  the  restoration  of  Church  property  not 
yet  finally  concluded  in  all  its  details,  with  endless 
adjustments  and  compensations  still  under  discus- 
sion. This  morning  it  was  on  the  University  ques- 
tion that  he  was  chiefly  engaged,  and  particularly 
the  question  as  to  the  relative  numbers  of  the  lay 
and  clerical  Fellows  on  the  old  Catholic  founda- 
tions. 

A  bell  struck  a  single  soft  note ;  and  one  of  his 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  185 

secretaries,  sitting  at  the  broad  table  near  the  win- 
dow, lifted  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  Then  he 
turned. 

"  His  Eminence  wishes  to  have  a  word  with  you, 
Monsignor,  on  two  matters." 

Monsignor  stood  up. 

"  ril  come  now,  if  it's  convenient,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  to  be  at  Westminster  at  twelve." 

The  secretary  spoke  again  through  the  telephone. 

"  His  Eminence  is  ready,"  he  said. 

The  Cardinal  looked  up  as  the  priest  came  in  a 
minute  later. 

"  Ah !  good  morning,  Monsignor.  Yes,  sit  down 
there.  There  are  just  two  matters  I  want  to  have 
a  word  with  you  on.  The  first  is  as  regards  a 
heresy-trial  of  a  priest." 

Monsignor  bowed.  It  was  his  first  experience  of 
the  kind,  so  far  as  he  could  remember;  and  he  did 
not  yet  fully  understand  all  that  it  meant. 

"  I  wish  you  to  select  the  judges.  You'll  look 
up  the  procedure,  if  you  forget?  A  Dominican 
must  be  on  it,  of  course ;  so  you  must  communicate 
with  the  Provincial.  The  other  two  must  be  secu- 
lars, as  the  accused  is  a  Religioso.  He  has  elected 
to  be  tried  in  England." 

"  Yes,  your  Eminence." 

"  He  has  behaved  very  reasonably,  and  refuses 
to  take  advantage  of  the  Neniviius  clause." 


'  i86  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  I  forget  at  this  moment,"  began  Monsignor, 
vaguely  conscious  that  he  had  heard  of  this  be- 
fore. 

"  Oh !  that  gives  him  the  right  to  suppress  the 
book  before  pubHcation.  It's  part  of  the  new  legis- 
lation. He  has  sent  the  thesis  of  his  book,  pri- 
vately printed,  to  Rome,  and  it  has  been  condemned. 
He  refuses  to  withdraw,  as  he  is  perfectly  confident 
of  his  orthodoxy.  I  understand  that  the  book  is 
not  yet  completely  finished,  but  he  has  his  thesis 
clear  enough.  It  is  on  the  subject  of  the  miracu- 
lous element  in  religion." 

'*  I  beg  your  Eminence's  pardon,  but  is  the  author 
a  Benedictine  by  any  chance  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  smiled. 

"  Yes ;  I  was  coming  to  that.  His  name  is  Dom 
Adrian  Bennett.  He  is  —  or  rather  ought  to  be  — 
a  Westminster  monk,  but  his  return  has  been  de- 
ferred for  the  present." 

"  I  met  him  at  Lourdes,  your  Eminence." 

"  Ah !  He  is  a  very  clever  young  man,  and  at 
the  same  time  perfectly  courageous.  .  ,  . 
Well,  you'll  look  up  the  procedure,  if  you're  not 
perfectly  clear?  And  I  should  wish  to  have  the 
names  of  the  judges  by  to-morrow  night.  The 
Canon  Theologian  of  the  diocese  may  not  be  well 
enough  to  act.     But  you  will  make  arrangements." 

"  Yes,  your  Eminence." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  187 

"  The  second  matter  is  exceedingly  important." 
(The  Cardinal  began  to  play  with  the  pen  that  lay 
on  his  desk.)  "And  no  rumor  of  it  must  get  out 
from  this  house.  It  may  be  made  public  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  I  wish  you  to  know  beforehand  in  order 
that  you  may  not  be  taken  by  surprise.  Well,  it  is 
this.  I  have  had  information  that  the  Emperor  of 
Germany  will  be  received  into  the  Catholic  Church 
to-night.  I  needn't  tell  you  what  that  means.  He 
is  quite  fearless  and  quite  conscientious;  and  there 
is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  he  will,  sooner  or 
later,  make  it  impossible  for  the  Socialists  to  con- 
gregate any  longer  in  Berlin.  That  will  mean 
either  civil  war  in  Germany —  (I  hear  the  Socialists 
have  been  in  readiness  for  this  for  some  time  past) 
—  or  it  will  mean  their  dispersal  everywhere.  Eu- 
rope, at  any  rate,  will  have  to  deal  with  them. 
However,  that's  in  the  future.  The  important 
thing  at  the  present  is  that  we  should  be  able  to  show 
our  full  strength  when  the  time  comes.  There  will 
be  thanksgivings  throughout  England,  of  course,  as 
soon  as  the  news  is  published,  and  I  wish  you  to 
be  in  readiness  to  make  what  arrangements  are  nec- 
essary. It  was  the  Lourdes  miracle,  which  you 
witnessed,  that  has  finished  the  affair.  As  you 
know,  the  Emperor  has  been  on  the  edge  of  this  for 
months  past." 

The   Cardinal   spoke   quietly   and   diplomatically 


1 88  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

enough;  but  the  other  could  see  how  deeply  moved 
he  was  by  this  tremendous  development.  The  Em- 
peror's position  had  been  the  one  flaw  in  the  Cath- 
olic organization  of  Europe  —  and  indeed  of  the 
world.  Now  the  last  stone  was  laid,  and  the  arch 
was  complete.  The  single  drawback  was  that  no 
statesman  or  prophet  could  conjecture  with  certainty 
what  the  effect  on  the  Socialists  would  be. 

*'  And  how  are  you,  Monsignor  ? "  asked  the 
Cardinal  suddenly,  smiling  at  him. 

"  I  am  getting  on  very  well,  your  Eminence !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  say  that,  for  myself,  I  am  more 
than  satisfied,'^  went  on  the  other.  *'  You  seem  to 
me  to  have  regained  all  your  old  grip  on  things  — 
and  in  some  points  to  have  more  than  regained  it. 
I  have  written  to  Rome — "  (he  broke  off). 

"  It's  the  details  that  still  trouble  me,  your  Emi- 
nence. For  instance,  in  this  heresy-trial,  I  cannot 
remember  the  procedure,  or  the  penalties,  or  any- 
thing else." 

''  That'll  all  come  back,"  smiled  the  Cardinal. 
"  After  all,  the  principles  are  the  point.  Well,  I 
mustn't  detain  you.  You're  to  be  at  Westminster 
at  twelve." 

"  Yes,  your  Eminence.  We've  nearly  finished 
now.  The  monks  are  very  well  satisfied.  But  the 
main  body  of  them  do  not  come  to  Westminster 
until    they    formally    reenter.     Cardinal    Campello 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  189 

has  written  to  say  that  he  will  be  with  us  on  the 
20th  for  certain." 

"  That  is  very  good.  .  .  .  Then  good  morn- 
ing, Monsignor." 

It  was  nearly  midnight  before  Monsignor  Mas- 
terman  pushed  away  the  book  that  lay  before  him 
and  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  He  felt  sick  and  dazed 
at  what  he  had  read. 

First,  he  had  studied  with  extreme  care  the  con- 
stitution of  the  Heresy-Court,  and  had  sent  off  a 
couple  of  hours  ago  the  formal  letters  to  th6  Do- 
minican Provincial  and  two  other  priests  whom  he 
had  selected.  Then  he  had  studied  the  procedure 
of  the  court,  and  the  penalties  assigned. 

At  first  he  could  not  believe  what  he  read.  He 
had  turned  more  than  once  to  the  title-page  of  the 
great  quarto,  thinking  that  he  must  find  it  to  be  a 
reprint  of  some  medical  work.  But  the  title  was 
unmistakable.  The  book  was  printed  in  Rome  in 
the  spring  of  the  present  year,  and  contained  an 
English  supplement,  dealing  with  the  actual  rela- 
tions of  the  Church  laws  with  those  of  the  coun- 
try. There  were  minor  penalties  for  minor  of- 
fenses; there  was  at  every  turn  an  escape  for  the 
accused.  He  might,  even  in  the  last  event,  escape 
all  penalties  by  a  formal  renouncement  of  Chris- 


I90  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

tianity;  but  if  not,  if  he  persisted  simultaneously  in 
claiming  a  place  in  the  Church  of  Christ  and  in 
holding  to  a  theological  opinion  declared  erroneous 
by  the  Court  of  Appeal  ratified  by  the  Pope,  he  was 
to  be  handed  over  to  the  secular  arm;  and  by  the 
laws  of  England  —  as  well  as  of  every  other  Eu- 
ropean country  except  Germany  —  the  penalty  in- 
flicted by  the  secular  arm  was,  in  the  instance  of  a 
tonsured  clerk,  death. 

It  was  this  that  staggered  the  priest. 

Somewhere  within  him  there  rose  up  a  protest  so 
overwhelmingly  strong  as  to  evade  even  an  attempt 
at  deliberate  analysis  —  a  protest  that  rested  on  the 
axiom  that  spiritual  crimes  deserved  only  spiritual 
punishment.  This  he  could  understand.  He  per- 
ceived clearly  enough  that  no  society  can  preserve 
its  identity  without  limitations;  that  no  association 
can  cohere  without  definite  rules  that  must  be 
obeyed.  He  was  sufficiently  educated  then  to  un- 
derstand that  a  man  who  chooses  to  disregard  the 
demands  of  a  spiritual  society,  however  arbitrary 
these  demands  may  seem  to  be,  can  no  longer  claim 
the  privileges  of  the  body  to  which  he  has  hitherto 
adhered.  But  that  death  —  brutal  physical  death 
—  could  by  any  civilized  society  —  still  less  any 
modern  Christian  society  —  be  even  an  alternative 
penalty  for  heresy,  shocked  him  beyond  description. 

A  ray  of  hope  had  shone  on  him  when  he  first 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  191 

read  the  facts.  It  might  be,  perhaps,  that  this  was 
merely  a  formal  sentence,  as  were  the  old  penalties 
for  high  treason  abandoned  long  before  they  were 
repealed.  He  turned  to  the  index;  and  after  a 
search  leaned  back  again  in  despair.  He  had  seen 
half  a  dozen  cases  quoted,  within  the  last  ten  years, 
in  England  alone,  in  which  the  penalty  had  been 
inflicted. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  stood  up,  with  one 
determination  at  least  formed  in  his  mind  —  that  he 
would  consult  no  one.  He  had  learnt  in  the  last 
few  weeks  sufficient  distrust  of  himself  to  refrain 
from  formulating  conclusions  too  soon,  and  he 
learnt  enough  of  the  world  in  which  he  found  him- 
self to  understand  that  positions  accepted  as  self- 
evident  by  society  in  general,  which  yet  seemed  im- 
possible to  himself,  after  all  occasionally  turned  out 
to  be  at  least  not  ridiculous. 

But  to  think  that  it  was  the  young  monk  with 
whom  he  had  talked  at  Lourdes  who  was  to  be  the 
center  of  the  process  he  himself  had  to  prepare! 
.  .  .  He  understood  now  some  of  the  hints  that 
Dom  Adrian  Bennett  had  let  fall. 

(in): 

A  card  was  brought  up  to  him  a  couple  of  even- 
ings later  as  he  sat  at  his  desk;  and  as  he  turned  it 
over  Father  Jervis  himself  hurried  in. 


192  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  alone  an  instant?  "  he  said; 
and  glanced  at  the  secretaries,  who  rose  and  went 
out  without  a  word. 

"  You  look  unwell,"  said  the  old  priest  keenly,  as 
he  sat  down. 

Monsignor  waved  a  deprecatory  hand. 

"  Well  —  I'm  glad  I  caught  you  in  time,"  went 
on  the  other.  "  I  saw  the  man  come  in ;  and  won- 
dered whether  you  knew  about  him." 

"  Mr.  Hardy." 

"  Yes  —  James  Hardy." 

"Well  —  I  just  know  he's  not  a  Catholic;  and 
something  of  a  politician." 

"  Well,  he's  quite  the  shrewdest  man  the  secu- 
larists have  got.  He's  a  complete  materialist.  And 
I've  not  the  slightest  doubt  he's  heard  of  your  ill- 
ness and  has  come  to  see  whether  he  can  fish  any- 
thing out  of  you.  He's  exceedingly  plausible ;  and 
very  dangerous.  I  don't  know  what  he's  come 
about,  but  you  may  be  certain  it's  something  im- 
portant. It  may  be  to  do  with  the  Religious 
Houses;  or  the  Bill  for  the  reestablishment  of  the 
Church.  But  you  may  depend  upon  it,  it's  some- 
thing vital.  I  thought  I'd  better  remind  you  who 
he  is." 

The  priest  stood  up. 

'*  Thank  you  very  much,  father.  Is  there  jsiny- 
thing  else?     Have  you  any  news  for  me?  " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  193 

Father  Jervis  smiled. 

"  No,  Monsignor.  You  know  more  than  I  do, 
now  .  .  .  Well,  I'll  tell  Mr.  Hardy  you'll  see 
him.     Number  one  parlor?  " 

''  That'll  do  very  well.     Thanks." 

It  was  growing  towards  dusk  as  Monsignor  Mas- 
terman  passed  down  the  corridor  a  few  minutes 
later ;  and  he  paused  a  moment  to  glance  out  upon 
the  London  street  through  the  tall  window  at  the 
end.  Not  that  there  was  anything  particular  to  be 
seen  there;  indeed  the  street,  at  the  moment  he 
looked,  was  entirely  empty.  But  he  looked  up  for 
an  instant  at  the  great  electric  news-sheet  where 
the  headlines  were  displayed,  above  the  corner  shop 
on  the  way  to  Victoria  Street  where  the  papers 
were  sold.  But  there  was  no  news.  There  was 
the  usual  announcement  of  the  weather  conditions, 
a  reference  to  one  or  two  land-cases,  and  a  political 
statement. 

Then  he  went  on. 

The  parlor  with  the  glass  doors  was  lighted  as  he 
came  in,  and  a  man  in  a  black  lawyer's  dress  stood 
up  to  greet  him.  He  was  rosy-faced  and  genial, 
clean  shaven,  above  the  middle-height,  and  his  man- 
ner was  very  deferential  and  attractive. 

The  first  minute  or  two  was  taken  up  by  Mr. 
Hardy's  congratulations  on  the  other's  appearance, 
and  on  his  complete  recovery.     There  was  not  a 


194  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

trace  of  anxiety  or  nervousness  in  his  manner;  and 
the  priest  almost  insensibly  found  himself  begin- 
ning to  discount  his  friend's  warning.  Then,  quite 
suddenly,  the  other  turned  to  business. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  come  to  the  point.  What 
I  want  to  ask  is  this,  Monsignor.  Can  you  tell  me 
in  confidence  (I  assure  you  I  will  be  discreet) 
whether  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  here  realize 
the  rush  of  Socialists  that  is  bound  to  come,  so 
soon  as  the  Emperor's  conversion  is  publicly  an- 
nounced? " 

"  I  — "  began  the  priest. 

"  One  moment,  please,  Monsignor.  I  do  not  in  the 
least  want  to  force  any  confidences.  But  you  know 
we  infidels  " —  (he  smiled  charmingly  and  mod- 
estly) — ''  we  infidels  regard  you  as  our  best  friends. 
The  State  seems  to  know  nothing  of  mercy.  But 
the  Church  is  always  reasonable.  And  we  poor 
Socialists  must  live  somewhere.     So  I  wished  — " 

''  But  my  dear  sir,"  began  Monsignor.  ''  I  think 
you're  assuming  too  much.  Has  the  Emperor 
shown  any  signs  — ?  " 

Across  the  other's  face  he  suddenly  saw  pass  a 
look  of  complete  vacancy,  as  if  he  were  no  longer 
attending;  and,  simultaneously,  he  heard  a  sudden 
sound  which  he  could  not  at  first  identify,  through 
the  open  windows  looking  on  to  Ambrosden  Ave- 
nue. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  195 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  exclaimed  the  lawyer  sharply ; 
and  stood  up. 

Again  from  the  street  there  rose  the  roar  of 
voices,  cheering,  followed  by  a  sharp  punctuating 
cry. 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  the  priest.  "  We  can  see 
from  the  corridor." 

When  they  reached  the  window  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  street  had  changed.  Half-way  from  where 
they  stood,  to  the  end  where  the  sheet  placard  was 
erected,  was  a  gathering,  surging  mob,  increasing 
as  they  looked.  From  the  left,  from  behind  the 
west  end  of  the  cathedral  clock  a  continual  stream 
poured  in,  met  by  two  others,  the  one  down  the 
avenue  of  figures  that  ran  and  gesticulated,  the 
other  from  the  direction  of  Victoria  Street.  And 
from  the  whole  arose  gusts  of  cheering,  marking 
the  pauses  in  the  speech  of  some  tiny  figure  which, 
mounted  beside  the  news-sheet,  appeared  to  be  de- 
livering a  speech. 

Monsignor  glanced  at  the  news-sheet,  and  there, 
in  gigantic  letters,  over  the  space  where  the 
weather  had  been  discussed  just  now,  was  the  an- 
nouncement made  public  at  the  very  instant  when 
the  leader  of  the  English  Socialists  was  attempting 
to  discover  the  truth  of  the  rumor  that  had  reached 
him:  — 


196  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

THE  EMPEROR  OF  GERMANY  WAS  RECEIVED  INTO  THE 
CATHOLIC    CHURCH    ON    THURSDAY   EVENING. 

And  beneath  it : 

PROCLAMATION  TO  THE  SOCIALISTS  ANNOUNCED 
FOR   TO-NIGHT. 

Monsignor  read  it,  unconscious  of  all  else  ex- 
cept the  astounding  fact.  Then  he  turned  to  speak, 
but  found  himself  alone. 

(IV) 

London  went  soberly  mad  with  enthusiasm  that 
night,  and  Monsignor  Masterman,  standing  on  the 
cathedral  roofs  with  half  a  dozen  priests,  watched 
what  could  be  seen  of  the  excitement  for  half  an 
hour,  before  going  downstairs  for  the  Te  Deum  in 
the  great  church. 

The  cathedral  was,  indeed,  largely,  the  center 
round  which  the  enthusiasm  concentrated  itself. 
Two  other  whirlpools  eddied  in  Parliament  Square, 
and  round  St.  Paul's,  where  the  Archbishop  of  Lon- 
don preached  a  sermon  from  the  steps.  Even  these 
facts,  although  in  a  sense  he  knew  they  must  be 
so,  drove  home  into  the  priest's  mind  the  realization 
of  how  the  Church  was,  once  again,  as  five  hun- 
dred years  ago,  the  center  and  not  merely  a  depart- 
ment of  the  national  life. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  197 

In  every  direction,  as  he  leaned  over  Ambrosden 
Avenue,  as  he  looked  down  Francis  Street  to  right 
and  left,  everywhere  nothing  of  the  streets  was  visi- 
ble under  the  steadily  moving  pavement  of  heads. 
Every  space  between  the  tall  houses  resembled  the 
flow  of  an  intricate  stream,  with  its  currents,  its 
eddies,  its  back-waters,  beneath  the  clear  radiance 
of  the  artificial  light.  Here  and  there  actors  w^ere 
seen  gesticulating  in  dumb  show,  for  all  sounds 
were  drowned  in  the  steady  subdued  roar  of  voices. 
There  was  no  delirium,  no  horse-play;  the  citizens 
were  too  well  disciplined.  Occasionally  from  this 
point  or  that  a  storm  of  cheering  broke  out  as  some 
great  man  was  recognized. 

About  half-past  nine  mounted  policemen  began 
to  make  their  appearance  from  Victoria  Street,  and 
an  open  way  was  gradually  formed  leading  to  a 
cleared  space  in  front  of  the  Cathedral.  Ten  min- 
utes later  cars  began  to  follow,  as  the  great  folks 
began  to  arrive  for  the  Te  Deum,  and  almost  si- 
multaneously the  bells  broke  out,  led  by  the  solemn 
crash  of  the  great  "  St.  Edward  "  from  the  cam- 
panile. 

(V) 

They  read  in  the  morning  the  full  text  of  the 
proclamation  to  the  Socialists. 

As  Monsignor  Masterman  came  up  from  break- 


198  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

fast,  he  felt  his  arm  taken,  and  there  was  Father 
Jervis,  his  clever  old  face  lit  up  by  excitement.  He, 
too,  carried  a  morning  paper  under  his  arm. 

''  I  would  have  a  talk  with  you  about  this,"  he 
said.     "  Have  you  seen  the  Cardinal  yet?  " 

''  I'm  to  see  him  at  ten.  I  feel  perfectly  helpless. 
I  don't  understand  in  the  least." 

"  Have  you  read  it  through  yet?  " 

"  No,  I  glanced  at  it  only,  I  wish  you'd  help  me 
through,  father." 

The  old  priest  nodded. 

"  Well,  well,  read  every  word  of  it  first." 

As  they  passed  into  the  sitting-room,  the  prelate 
slipped  forward  the  little  door-plate  that  announced 
that  he  was  within,  but  engaged.  Then,  without  a 
word,  they  sat  down,  and  there  was  dead  silence 
for  twenty  minutes,  broken  only  by  the  rustle  of 
turning  pages,  and  an  occasional  murmur  or  raised 
voices  from  the  groups  that  still  wandered  round 
the  Cathedral  —  pools  of  that  vast  river  that  had 
filled  every  channel  last  night.  Father  Jervis  ut- 
tered a  small  exclamation  once  or  twice. 

Monsignor  laid  down  the  sheets  at  last  and 
sighed. 

"Finished,    father?" 

'^  Oh,  yes !  I've  been  re-reading.  Now  let  us 
talk." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  199 

Father  Jervis  turned  back  to  the  front  page,  set- 
tled the  paper  on  his  knee,  and  leaned  back. 

"  The  main  point  is  this,"  he  said.  "  Repressive 
measures  will  be  passed  in  Germany,  as  soon  as  the 
act  can  be  got  through.  That  will  mean  that  Ger- 
many will  be  brought  up  into  line  with  the  rest  of 
Europe,  America,  Australia,  and  half  Asia, 
throughout  her  whole  empire.  That  will  mean 
again  that  our  own  repressive  measures  will  really 
and  truly  be  put  into  force.  At  present  they  are 
largely  inoperative." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  we've  got  laws  against  things  like  blas- 
phemy and  heresy,  and  particularly  the  dissemina- 
tion of  heresy,  and  all  the  rest;  but  they're  prac- 
tically never  put  into  force  except  in  very  flagrant 
cases.  For  instance.  Socialist  and  infidel  speeches 
can  be  delivered  freely  in  what  are  called  private 
houses,  which  are  really  clubs.  Well,  that  sort 
of  thing  cannot  possibly  go  on.  The  infidels  have 
complained  of  tyranny,  of  course  —  that's  part  of 
the  game.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they've  been  per- 
fectly free,  unless  they  gave  actually  public  offense. 
They've  distributed  their  pamphlets  and  done  what 
they  liked.  Well,  of  course  it  was  impossible  to 
be  really  strict  so  long  as  Germany  was  lax.  They 
could  always  meet  in  Berlin,  and  have  their  pam- 


200  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

phlets  printed  there;  and  we  could  do  nothing. 
But,  you  see,  the  whole  situation's  changed  with  the 
Emperor's  conversion.  He's  one  of  those  heavy, 
consistent  men  —  quite  stupid,  of  course  —  who 
act  their  principles  right  out  to  the  furthest  detail. 
So  long  as  he  was  agnostic  he  allowed  almost  any- 
thing to  go  on.  And  now  he's  a  Christian  he'll  un- 
derstand that  that  must  stop.  He's  responsible  be- 
fore God,  you  see,  as  the  ruler  — " 

"  But  the  people.     What  of  the  people  ?  " 

Father  Jervis  stared. 

"The  people?  Why,  they're  the  ruled,  aren't 
they?" 

"  But  —  er  —  democracy  — " 

"Democracy?  Why,  no  one  believes  in  that,  of 
course.     How  could  they?  " 

"  Go  on,  father." 

"  But,  Monsignor,  you  must  get  that  clear.  You 
must  remember  we're  really  educated  people,  not 
half-educated." 

Monsignor  twitched  with  irritation.  He  could 
not  understand  even  yet. 

"  Father,  do  you  mean  that  the  people  won't  re- 
sent this  sudden  change  of  front  on  the  part  of  the 
Emperor?  Certainly,  if  they're  really  liberally- 
minded  they'll  tolerate  his  following  his  own  con- 
science. But  how  can  they  justify  his  suddenly 
dictating  to  them?  " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  201 

The  priest  leaned  forward  a  little.  His  old  man- 
ner came  back,  and  once  more  he  spoke  to  Mon- 
signor  as  to  a  child. 

"  Monsignor,  listen  carefully,  please.  I  assure 
you  you're  completely  out  of  date.  What  the  Ger- 
man people  will  say  now  is  this :  *  Up  to  now  the 
Emperor  has  been  agnostic,  and  therefore  he  has 
not  allowed  any  laws  against  heresy.  Now  he  is  a 
Catholic,  and  therefore  he  will  cause  laws  to  be 
passed  against  heresy.' '' 

"  And  they  won't  resent  that  ?  "  snapped  the  prel- 
ate, now  thoroughly  irritated. 

Father  Jervis  lifted  a  pacific  hand. 

"  My  dear  friend,  the  Germans  —  like  all  other 
educated  nations  —  believe  that  their  ruler  is  meant 
by  God  to  rule  them.  And  they  also  believe  that 
Catholicism  is  the  true  religion.  Very  well,  then. 
When  a  ruler  is  Catholic  they  obey  him  implicitly, 
because  they  know  that  he  will  be  kept  straight  in 
all  matters  of  right  and  wrong  by  the  Pope,  who 
is  the  Representative  of  God.  In  non-vital  matters 
they  will  obey  him  because  he  is  their  ruler,  and 
therefore  they  are  bound  in  conscience  to  do  so." 

"  And  when  the  ruler  is  not  Catholic?  " 

"  Again,  in  non-vital  matters  they  will  obey  him. 
And  in  vital  matters  —  supposing,  that  is,  he  passed 
a  law  against  Christianity  (which,  of  course,  now- 
adays   no   man    could    certainly   do) — then    they 


202  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

would  appeal  to  the  Pope,  and,  if  the  law  was  en- 
forced, destroy  it  and  take  the  penalties." 

"  Then  the  Pope  is  the  real  ruler  —  the  final  court 
of  appeal?  " 

''Certainly.  Who  else  should  be?  Isn't  he  the 
Vicar  of  Christ?" 

There  was  a  pause. 

''  There,"  said  the  priest  more  easily.  "  And  now 
we  really  must  get  back  to  the  point.  I  said  just 
now  that  the  conversion  of  the  Emperor  will  mean 
a  tightening  up  of  repressive  measures  against  the 
infidels  everywhere.  They  won't  be  allowed  to  con- 
gregate, or  disseminate  their  views  any  longer." 

"Yes?" 

''Well,  the  point  is,  what  will  happen?  There 
must  be  an  explosion  or  a  safety-valve.  And  even 
if  there  is  an  explosion  there  must  be  a  safety-valve 
afterwards,  or  there  will  be  another  explosion." 

"  What  you  told  me  about  America  — " 

"  That  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue,"  said  Father 
Jervis.     "  And  I  expect  there'll  be  the  solution." 

"  Let's  see,"  said  Monsignor  reflectively ;  "  you 
told  me  there  were  certain  cities  in  America  where 
infidels  were  tacitly  allowed  to  have  things  their 
own  way  —  I  think  you  mentioned  Boston?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  And  you  think  that  that  will  be  officially  au- 
thorized now  —  I  mean  that  there  will  be  definite 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  203 

colonies  where  the  infidels  will  be  allowed  complete 
liberty?" 

"  Under  restrictions  —  yes." 

*' What  sort  of  restrictions?" 

"  Well,  they  won't  be  allowed  to  have  an  army  or 
an  aery — " 

"Eh?" 

"  An  aery,"  repeated  Father  Jervis  — "  an  air- 
fleet,  I  mean.  That  wouldn't  do :  they  might  make 
war." 

"  I  see." 

"  I  don't  see  what  better  safety-valve  could  be 
suggested.  They  could  work  out  their  own  ideas 
there  as  much  as  they  liked.  Of  course,  details 
would  come  later." 

"And  the  rest  of  the  Proclamation?"  asked  the 
other,  lifting  the  sheet. 

"  I  think  we've  got  at  the  essentials,"  said  the 
priest,  glancing  again  at  his  own  copy,  "  and  at  the 
immediate  results.  Of  course,  all  his  other  meas- 
ures don't  come  into  force  till  the  Houses  pass 
them.  In  fact,  nothing  of  the  Proclamation  has 
force  until  that  happens.  I  expect  the  Bill  for  the 
Establishment  of  Catholicism  will  take  some  time. 
We  shall  get  ours  through  before  that.  They'll 
pass  a  few  small  measures  immediately,  no  doubt 
• —  as  to  the  Court  chaplains  and  so  on." 

There  was  a  pause. 

14 


204  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  I  really  think  we've  got  at  the  principles,"  said 
the  priest  again,  meditatively.  "  Are  they  clear  to 
you?" 

Monsignor  rose. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said.  "  I'm  very  much  obliged, 
Father.  Fm  sorry  I  was  stupid  just  now;  but  you 
know  it's  extraordinarily  bewildering  to  me.  I  still 
don't  seem  to  be  able  to  grasp  all  you  said  about 
Democracy." 

The  old  priest  smiled  reassuringly. 

**  Well,  you  see,  the  universal  franchise  reduced 
Democracy  ad  ahundum  fifty  years  ago.  Even  the 
uneducated  saw  that.  And  then  there  came  the 
reaction  to  the  old  king-idea  again." 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  see  how  the  people  ever  consented  to 
give  up  the  power  when  once  they'd  got  it." 

''  Why,  in  the  same  way  that  kings  used  to  lose  it 
in  the  old  days  —  by  revolution." 

"  Revolution  ?     Who  revolted  ?  " 

"  The  many  who  were  tyrannized  over  by  the 
few.     For  that's  what  democracy  really  means." 

Monsignor  smiled  at  what  he  conceived  to  be  a 
paradox. 

''Well,  I  must  go  to  the  Cardinal,"  he  said. 
"  It's  just  on  ten  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  II 

(I) 

TT  was  three  weeks  later  that  the  Benedictines 
took  formal  possession  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
and  simultaneously  that  Pontifical  High  Mass  was 
sung  in  the  University  churches  of  Oxford, 
Cambridge,  and  Durham,  to  mark  the  inauguration 
of  their  new  life. 

Monsignor  Masterman  was  appointed  to  attend 
upon  the  Cardinals  in  the  Abbey;  and  as  he  awoke 
that  morning,  it  seemed  to  him  once  more  as  if 
he  were  living  in  a  dream  of  strange  and  intoxi- 
cating unreality.  Everywhere  in  the  house,  as  he 
passed  along  the  corridors,  as  he  gave  and  received 
last  instructions  before  starting,  there  seemed  the 
same  tension  of  expectancy.  Finally,  as  he  went 
up  to  the  Cardinals'  rooms  to  announce  the  start, 
he  found  the  two  prelates,  both  in  their  scarlet,  sit- 
ting in  silence,  looking  out  over  the  crowded  silent 
streets. 

He  bowed  at  the  door  w^ithout  speaking,  and  then, 
turning,  led  the  way. 

As  they  came  down  to  the  door  where  the  horsed 
205 


2o6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

State  carriages  were  waiting,  for  a  moment  the  wall 
and  the  avenue  of  faces,  in  front  and  to  right  and 
left,  struck  him  almost  with  a  sense  of  hostility. 
A  murmur  that  was  almost  a  roar  greeted  the 
gleam  of  scarlet  as  the  cardinals  came  out;  then 
silence  again,  and  a  surge  of  downbent  heads  as  the 
two  raised  their  hands  in  blessing. 

Monsignor  himself  sat  facing  the  Cardinals  in  the 
glass  coach,  as  at  a  foot-pace  the  six  white  horses, 
with  grooms  and  postilions,  drew  them  slowly  past 
the  long  length  of  the  Cathedral,  round  to  the  right, 
and  into  Victoria  Street.  There  he  drew  a  long 
breath,  for  he  had  never  seen  or  dreamed  of  such 
a  sight  as  that  which  met  him.  From  end  to  end 
of  the  side  street,  and  in  the  direction  of  Old  Vic- 
toria Station,  across  the  roadway  as  well,  from 
every  w^indow  and  from  every  roof,  looked  a  silent 
sea  of  faces,  that  broke  into  sound  and  rippling 
motion  as  the  last  carriage  came  in  sight.  He  had 
not  realized  till  this  moment  the  tremendous  appeal 
to  the  imagination  which  this  formal  restoration 
of  the  old  Abbey  to  the  sons  of  its  original  founders 
and  occupants  made  to  the  popular  mind.  Here 
again  there  had  been  working  in  his  mind  an  unde- 
fined sense  that  the  Church  had  her  interests,  and 
the  nation  hers.  He  had  not  understood  that  the 
two  were  identified  once  more;  and  identified,  too, 
to  a  degree  which  had  perhaps  never  before  been 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  207 

reached.  Even  in  mediaeval  days  there  had  been 
crises  and  even  periods  during  which  the  secular 
power  stood  on  one  side  and  the  sacred  on  another ; 
as  when  Henry  had  faced  St.  Thomas,  with  the  na- 
tion torn  in  factions  behind  the  two  champions. 
But  the  lesson,  it  seemed,  had  been  learned  at  last; 
Caesar  had  learned  that  God  was  his  ultimate  sanc- 
tion; and  Church  and  nation,  now  perhaps  for  the 
first  time,  stood  together  as  soul  and  body  united  in 
one  personality. 

If  Victoria  Street  suggested  such  a  thought  as 
this.  Parliament  Square  drove  it  home.  As  the 
coach  drew  up  at  the  west  door  of  the  Abbey,  and 
]\Ionsignor  stepped  out  with  his  robes  about  him, 
like  a  ground-bass  to  the  ecstatic  pealing  of  the 
bells  overhead,  he  heard  the  great  roar  of  welcome 
roll  out  over  the  wide  space,  reverberate  back  from 
Westminster  Hall  and  the  Government  buildings  op- 
posite, and  die  down  into  heart  shaking  silence 
again,  as  the  scarlet  flash  was  seen  at  the  Abbey 
doors.  The  great  space  was  filled  in  every  foot 
with  a  crowd  that  was  of  one  heart  and  soul  in  its 
welcome  of  this  formal  act  of  restitution. 

Within,  the  monks  waited,  headed  by  their  ab- 
bot, in  a  wide  circle  of  some  hundred  persons,  in  the 
extreme  end  of  the  nave  about  the  door.  The 
proper  formalities  were  carried  out;  and  the  secu- 
lars, led  by  the  cardinals,  passed  up  the  enormous 


2o8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

church  between  the  tapestries  that  hung  from  every 
pillar  to  the  music  of  the  Ecce  Sacerdos  magnus. 

The  old  monuments  were  gone,  of  course  —  re- 
moved to  St.  Paul's  —  and  for  the  first  time  for 
nearly  three  hundred  years  it  was  possible  to  see 
the  monastic  character  of  the  church  as  its  builders 
had  designed  it.  Over  the  screen  hung  now  again 
the  Great  Rood  with  Mary  and  John ;  and  the  altars 
of  the  Holy  Cross  and  St.  Benedict  stood  on  either 
side  of  the  choir-gates. 

And  so  they  waited,  the  Cardinals  in  their  thrones 
beside  the  high-altar,  and  the  man  who  had  lost 
his  memory  beside  them;  while  the  organ  pealed 
out  continuously  overhead  and  endless  footsteps 
went  to  and  fro  over  the  carpeted  ways  and  the 
open  stone  spaces  of  the  transepts.  Once  more 
upon  this  man,  so  bewildered  by  this  new  world 
in  which  he  found  himself,  descended  a  flood  of 
memories  and  half-perceived  images.  He  looked 
up  to  the  far-off  vaulted  roof  and  the  lantern  be- 
neath the  central  tower;  he  looked  down  the  long 
row  of  untenanted  stalls;  across  the  transepts,  clean 
and  white  again  now  as  at  the  beginning,  filled 
from  end  to  end  across  the  floor  with  the  white  of 
surplices  and  the  dusky  colors  of  half  the  religious 
habits  of  the  world;  he  caught  here  and  there  the 
gleam  of  candle-flames  and  gold  and  carving  from 
the  new  altars,  set  back  again,  so  far  as  might  be, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  209 

in  their  old  stations;  and  again  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  Hved  in  some  world  of  the  imagination, 
as  if  he  saw  things  which  kings  and  prophets  had 
desired  to  see  and  had  not  seen  unless  in  visions  of 
faith  and  hope  that  never  found  fulfillment. 

He  whispered  softly  to  himself  sometimes;  old 
forgotten  names  and  scenes  and  fragments  came 
back.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  in  some  other  life  he 
had  once  stood  here  —  surely  there  in  that  transept 
—  a  stranger  and  an  outcast  —  watching  a  liturgy 
which  was  strange  to  him,  listening  to  music,  lovely 
indeed  to  the  ear,  yet  wholly  foreign  in  this  home 
of  monks  and  prayer.  Surely  great  statues  had 
stood  before  them  —  statesmen  in  perukes  who  si- 
lently declaimed  secular  rhetoric  in  the  house  of 
God,  swooning  women,  impossible  pagan  personifi- 
cations of  grief,  medallions,  heathen  wreaths,  and 
broken  columns.  Yet  here  as  he  looked  there  was 
nothing  but  the  decent  furniture  of  a  monastic 
church  —  tall  stalls,  altars,  images  of  the  great  ones 
of  heaven,  wide  eloquent  spaces  that  gave  room  to 
the  soul  to  breathe.  .  .  .  He  had  dreamed  the 
other  perhaps ;  he  had  read  histories ;  he  had  seen 
pictures.     .     .     . 

He  again  broke  oflf  in  full  blast;  and  under  the 
high  roofs  came  pealing  the  cry  of  a  trumpet.  He 
awoke  with  a  start;  the  Cardinals  were  already  on 
their    feet   at   a   gesture    from   a   master   of   cere- 


2IO  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

monies.  Then  he  stepped  into  his  place  and  went 
down  with  them  to  the  choir-gates  to  meet  the 
King.     .     .     . 

(n) 

It  was  in  the  Jerusalem  chamber  when  the  King 
was  gone,  a  couple  of  hours  later,  that  the  new 
abbot  of  Westminster  came  up  to  him.  He  was  a 
small,  rosy  man  with  very  clear,  beautiful  eyes. 

**  Can  you  speak  to  me  for  five  minutes,  Mon- 
signor?  "  he  said. 

The  other  glanced  across  at  the  Cardinals. 

"  Certainly,   father  abbot." 

The  two  went  out,  down  a  little  passage,  and 
into  a  parlor.     They  sat  down. 

"  It's  about  Dom  Adrian,"  said  the  abbot  ab- 
ruptly. 

Monsignor  checked  the  sudden  shock  that  ran 
through  him.  He  knew  he  must  show  no  emo- 
tion. 

"  It's  terribly  on  my  conscience,"  went  on  the 
other,  with  distress  visibly  growing  as  he  spoke. 
"  I  feel  I  ought  to  have  seen  which  way  he  was 
going.  He  was  one  of  my  novices,  you  know,  be- 
fore we  were  transferred.  .  .  .  He  would 
have  been  here  to-day  if  all  had  been  well.  He  was 
to  have  been  one  of  my  monks.  I  suggested  his 
name." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  211 

Monsignor  Masterman  began  to  deprecate  the 
self-accusation  of  the  other. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  abbot  sharply.  '*  But  the 
point  is  whether  anything  can  be  done.  The  trial 
begins  on  Monday,  you  see." 

"Will  he  submit?" 

The  abbot  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  He's  extraordinarily  deter- 
mined. But  I  wanted  to  know  if  you  could  give 
me  any  hope  on  the  other  side.  Could  you  do  any- 
thing for  him  with  the  Cardinal,  or  at  Rome?  " 

"  I  ...  I  will  speak  to  the  Cardinal,  cer- 
tainly, if  you  wish.     But — " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  you  know  a  great  deal  de- 
pends on  the  temper  of  the  court.  Facts  depend 
for  their  interpretation  upon  the  point  of  view." 

"  But  I  understand  that  it's  definite  heresy  — 
that  he  denies  that  there  is  any  distinction  between 
the  miracles  of  the  Church  and — " 

The  abbot  interrupted. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Monsignor.  But  for  all  that  there's 
a  great  deal  in  the  way  these  things  are  approached. 
You  see  there's  so  much  neutral  ground  on  which  the 
Church  has  defined  nothing." 

"  I  am  afraid,  from  what  I've  seen  of  the  papers, 
that  Dom  Adrian  v\^ill  insist  on  a  clear  issue." 

"I'm  afraid  so;  I'm  afraid  so.  We'll  do  our 
best  here  to  persuade  him  to  be  reasonable.     And 


212  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

I  thought  that  if  you  perhaps  would  do  your  best 
on  the  other  side  —  would  tell  the  Cardinal,  as  from 
yourself,  what  you  think  of  Dom  Adrian — " 

Monsignor  nodded. 

*'  If  we  could  but  postpone  the  trial  for  a  while," 
went  on  the  abbot  almost  distractedly.  "  That 
poor  boy!     His  face  has  been  with  me  all  to-day." 

For  an  instant  Monsignor  almost  gave  way.  He 
felt  himself  on  the  point  of  breaking  out  into  a 
burst  of  protest  against  the  whole  affair  —  of  de- 
nouncing the  horror  and  loathing  that  during  these 
last  days  had  steadily  grown  within  him  —  a  hor- 
ror that  so  far  he  had  succeeded  in  keeping  to  him- 
self. Then  once  more  he  crushed  it  down,  and 
stood  up  for  fear  his  resolution  should  give  way. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,  my  lord,"  he  said  coldly. 

(Ill) 

A  great  restlessness  seized  upon  the  man  who 
had  lost  his  memory  that  night. 

He  had  thought  after  his  return  from  abroad 
that  things  were  well  with  him  again  —  that  he  had 
learned  the  principles  of  this  world  that  was  so 
strange  to  him ;  and  his  busy  days  —  all  that  had 
to  be  done  and  recovered,  and  his  success  in  doing 
it  —  these  things  at  once  distracted  and  soothed 
him.  And  now  once  more  he  was  back  in  his  be- 
wilderment. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  213 

One  great  principle  it  was  whicli  confused  his 
whole  outlook  —  the  employment  of  force  upon  the 
side  of  Christianity.  Here,  on  the  large  scale,  was 
the  forcible  repression  of  the  Socialists;  on  a  small 
scale,  the  punishment  of  a  heretic.  What  kind  of 
religion  was  this  that  preached  gentleness  and  prac- 
ticed violence?     .     .     . 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  he  could  bear 
it  no  longer.  The  house  was  quiet,  and  the  lights 
for  the  most  part  gone  out.  He  took  his  hat  and 
thin  cloak,  throwing  this  round  him  so  as  to  hide 
the  purple  at  his  throat,  went  softly  down  the  corri- 
dors and  stairs,  and  let  himself  out  noiselesly  into 
Ambrosden  Avenue.  He  felt  he  must  have  air  and 
space;  he  was  beginning  almost  to  hate  this  silent, 
well-ordered  ecclesiastical  house,  where  wheels  ran 
so  smoothly,  so  inexorably,  and  so  effectively. 

He  came  out  presently  into  Victoria  Street  and 
turned  westwards. 

He  did  not  notice  much  as  he  went.  Only  his 
most  superficial  faculties  paid  attention  to  the  great, 
quiet,  lighted  thoroughfare,  to  the  few  figures  that 
moved  along,  to  the  scattered  sentinels  of  the  City 
of  Westminster  police  in  their  blue  and  silver,  who 
here  and  there  stood  at  the  corners  of  the  cross- 
streets,  w^ho  saluted  him  as  he  went  by ;  to  the  little 
lighted  shrines  that  here  and  there  hung  at  the 
angles.     Certainly  it  was  a  Catholic  city,  he  per- 


214  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

ceived  in  his  bitterness,  drilled  and  disciplined  by  its 
religion;  there  was  no  noise,  no  glare,  no  apparent 
evil.  And  the  marvel  was  that  the  people  seemed 
to  love  to  have  it  so !  He  remembered  questioning 
a  friend  or  two  soon  after  his  return  to  England 
as  to  the  revival  of  these  Curfew  laws,  and  the  ex- 
traordinary vigilance  over  morals;  and  the  answer 
he  had  received  to  the  effect  that  those  things  were 
taken  now  as  a  matter  of  course.  One  priest  had 
told  him  that  civilization  in  the  modern  sense  would 
be  inconceivable  without  them.  How  else  could 
the  few  rule  the  many?     .     .     . 

He  came  down,  across  Parliament  Square,  to  the 
river  at  last,  walking  swiftly  and  purposelessly.  A 
high  gateway,  with  a  guard-room  on  either  side, 
spanned  the  entrance  to  the  wide  bridge  that  sprang 
across  to  Southwark,  and  an  officer  stepped  out  as 
he  approached,  saluted,  and  waited. 

He  drove  down  his  impatience  with  an  effort,  re- 
membering the  espionage  (as  he  called  it)  practiced 
after  nightfall. 

"  I  want  to  breathe  and  look  at  the  river,"  he 
said  sharply. 

The  officer  paused  an  instant. 

"  Very  good,  father,"  he  said. 

Ah,  this  was  better !  .  .  .  The  bridge,  empty 
from  end  to  end,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  ran  straight 
over  to  the  south  side,   where,   once  again,   there 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  215 

rose  up  the  guard-house.  He  turned  sharply  when 
he  saw  it,  and  leaned  on  the  parapet  looking  east- 
wards. 

The  eternal  river  flowed  beneath  him,  clean  and 
steady  and  strong,  between  the  high  embankments. 
(He  knew  by  now  all  about  the  loch-system  that 
counteracted  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tides.) 
Scarcely  a  hundred  yards  away  curved  out  another 
bridge,  and  behind  that  another  and  another,  down 
into  the  distance,  all  outlined  in  half-lights  that 
shone  like  stars  and  flashed  back  like  heaven  itself 
from  the  smooth-running  water  beneath.  An  ex- 
traordinary silence  lay  over  all  —  the  silence  of  a 
sleeping  city  —  though  it  was  scarcely  yet  mid- 
night, and  though  the  city  itself  on  either  side  of 
the  river  lay  white  and  glowing  in  the  lights  that 
burned  everywhere  till  dawn. 

At  first  it  quieted  him  —  this  vision  of  earthly 
peace,  this  perfection  to  which  order  and  civilization 
had  come;  and  then,  as  he  regarded  it,  it  enraged 
him.     .     .     . 

For  was  not  this  very  vision  an  embodiment  of 
the  force  that  he  hated?  It  was  this  very  thing 
that  oppressed  and  confined  his  spirit  —  this  inex- 
orable application  of  eternal  principles  to  temporal 
affairs.  Here  was  a  city  of  living  men,  each  an 
individual  personality,  of  individual  tastes,  thoughts, 
and  passions,  each  a  world  to  himself  and  monarch 


2i6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

of  that  world.  Yet  by  some  abominable  trick,  it 
seemed,  these  individuals  were  not  merely  in  ex- 
ternal matters  forced  to  conform  to  the  Society 
which  they  helped  to  compose,  but  interiorly,  too; 
they  actually  had  been  tyrannized  over  in  their  con- 
sciences and  judgments,  and  loved  their  chains.  If 
he  had  known  that  the  fires  of  revolt  lay  there 
sleeping  beneath  this  smooth  exterior  he  would  have 
hated  it  far  less;  but  he  had  seen  with  his  own 
eyes  that  it  was  not  so.  The  crowds  that  had 
swarmed  a  while  ago  round  the  Cathedral,  poured 
in  and  filling  it  for  the  Te  Deiim  of  thanksgiving 
that  one  more  country  had  been  brought  under  the 
yoke;  the  sea  of  faces  that  had  softly  applauded 
and  bowed  beneath  the  blessing  of  those  two  Car- 
dinals in  scarlet ;  the  enthusiasm,  the  more  amazing 
in  its  silent  orderliness,  which  had  greeted  the  res- 
toration of  the  old  national  Abbey  to  its  Benedic- 
tine founders  —  even  the  very  interviews  he  had 
had  with  quiet,  deferential  men,  who,  he  understood, 
stood  at  the  very  head  of  the  secular  powers;  the 
memory  of  the  young  King  kissing  the  ring  of  the 
abbot  at  the  steps  into  the  choir  —  all  these  things 
proved  plainly  enough  that  by  some  supernatural 
alchemy  the  very  minds  of  men  had  been  trans- 
formed, that  they  were  no  longer  free  to  rebel  and 
resent  and  assert  inalienable  rights  —  in  short,  that 
a  revolution  had  passed  over  the  world  such  as  his- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  217 

tory  had  never  before  known,  that  men  no  longer 
lived  free  and  independent  lives  of  their  own,  but 
had  been  persuaded  to  contribute  all  that  made  them 
men  to  the  Society  which  they  composed. 

He  perceived  now  clearly  that  it  was  this  forced 
contribution  that  he  hated  —  this  merging  of  the 
individual  in  the  body,  and  the  body  one  of  prin- 
ciples that  were  at  once  precise  and  immutable.  It 
was  the  extinction  of  self. 

Then,  almost  without  perceiving  the  connection, 
he  turned  in  his  mind  to  Christianity  as  he  con- 
ceived it  to  be  —  to  his  ideal  figure  of  Christ;  and 
in  an  instant  he  saw  the  contrast,  and  why  it  was 
that  the  moral  instinct  within  him  loathed  and  re- 
sented this  modern  Christian  State. 

For  it  was  a  gentle  Figure  that  stood  to  him  for 
Christ — God  ?  yes,  in  some  profound  and  mysterious 
way,  but,  for  all  earthly  purposes  of  love  and  imi- 
tation, a  meek  and  persuasive  Man  whose  kingdom 
was  not  of  this  world,  who  repudiated  violence  and 
inculcated  love;  One  who  went  through  the  world 
with  simple  tasks  and  soft  words,  who  suffered 
without  striking,  who  obeyed  with  no  desire  to  rule. 

And  what  had  this  tranquil,  tolerant  Figure  in 
common  with  the  strong  discipline  of  this  Church 
that  bore  His  name  —  a  Church  that  had  waited  so 
long,  preaching  His  precepts,  until  she  grew  mighty 
and   could   afford   to   let   them   drop;   this   Church 


2i8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

which,  after  centuries  of  blood  and  tears,  at  last  had 
laid  her  hands  upon  the  scepter,  and  ruled  the  world 
with  whom  she  had  pleaded  in  vain  so  long;  this 
Church  who,  after  two  thousand  years  of  pain,  had 
at  last  put  her  enemies  under  her  feet  — "  re- 
pressed"  the  infidel  and  killed  the  heretic? 

And  so  the  interior  conflict  went  on  within  this 
man,  who  found  within  him  a  Christianity  with 
which  the  Christian  world  in  which  he  lived  had  no 
share  or  part.  He  still  stared  out  in  the  soft  au- 
tumn night  at  the  huge  quiet  city,  his  chin  on  his 
hands  and  his  elbows  on  the  parapet,  half  perceiving 
the  parable  at  which  he  looked.  Once  it  was  this 
river  beneath  him  that  had  made  the  city;  now  the 
city  set  the  river  within  bars  and  ordered  its  goings. 
Once  it  was  Christianity  —  the  meek  and  gentle 
spirit  of  Christ  —  that  had  made  civilization;  now 
civilization  had  fettered  Christianity  in  unbreakable 
chains.  .  .  .  Yet  even  as  he  resented  and  re- 
belled he  felt  he  dared  not  speak.  There  were  great 
forces  about  him,  forces  he  had  experienced  for 
himself  —  Science  tamed  at  last,  self-control,  organ- 
ization, and  a  Peace  which  he  could  not  understand. 
Every  man  with  whom  he  had  to  do  seemed  kind 
and  tender;  there  was  the  patient  old  priest  who 
taught  him  and  bore  with  him  as  with  a  child,  the 
fatherly  Cardinal,  the  quiet,  serene  ecclesiastics  of 
the  house  in  which  he  lived,  the  controlled  crowds, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  219 

the  deferential  great  men  with  whom  he  talked. 
But  it  was  their  very  strength,  he  saw,  that  made 
them  tender;  the  appalling  power  of  the  machine, 
which  even  now  he  felt  that  he  but  half  understood, 
was  the  very  thing  that  made  it  run  so  smoothly.  It 
had  the  horror  of  a  perfectly  controlled  steel  piston 
that  moves  as  delicately  as  a  feather  fan. 

For  he  saw  how  inexorable  was  that  strength 
which  controlled  the  world;  how  ruthless,  in  spite 
of  smooth  and  compassionate  words,  towards  those 
who  resisted  it.  The  Socialists  were  to  be  "  re- 
pressed " ;  the  heretic  was  to  be  tried  for  his  life ; 
and  in  all  that  wide  world  in  which  he  lived  it 
seemed  that  there  was  not  one  Christian  who  re- 
coiled, not  one  breath  of  public  opinion  that  could 
express  itself. 

And  he  —  he  who  hated  it  —  must  take  his  part. 
A  Fate  utterly  beyond  his  understanding  had  set 
him  there  as  a  wheel  in  that  mighty  machine;  and 
he  must  revolve  in  his  place  motionlessly  and  un- 
resistingly in  whatever  task  was  set  before  him. 

Once  only,  as  he  stared  out  at  the  great  pros- 
pective view,  did  his  heart  sicken  and  fail  him. 
He  dropped  his  face  upon  his  hands,  and  cried  to 
the  only  Christ  whom  he  knew  in  silence.     .     .     . 


15 


CHAPTER  III 

(I) 

TT  was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day, 
•*'  as  the  trial  of  Dom  Adrian  Bennett  drew  to  its 
close,  that  the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory  could 
no  longer  resist  the  horrible  fascination  of  the  af- 
fair, and  presented  himself  at  the  door  of  the  court- 
room. He  had  learned  that  morning  that  the  end 
of  the  trial  w^as  in  sight. 

It  was  outside  a  block  of  buildings  somewhere  to 
the  north  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  that  the  car  set 
him  down.  He  learned  at  the  porter's  lodge  the 
number  of  the  court,  and  then  passed  in,  following 
his  directions,  through  a  quadrangle  that  w-as  all 
alight  with  scarlet  creepers,  where  three  or  four 
ecclesiastics  saluted  him,  up  a  staircase  or  two,  and 
found  himself  at  last  at  a  tall  door  bearing  the 
number  he  w^anted.  As  he  hesitated  to  knock,  the 
door  opened,  and  a  janitor  came  out. 

"  Can  I  go  in?  "  asked  the  priest.  "  I  am  from 
Archbishop's  House." 

"  I  can  take  you  into  the  gallery  at  the  back, 

220 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  221 

Monsignor,"  said  the  man.  ''  The  body  of  the 
court  is  full." 

''  That  will  do." 

They  went  round  a  corner  together  and  came  to  a 
door  up  three  or  four  stairs.  The  janitor  unlocked 
this  and  threw  it  back.  Further  steps  rose  within 
the  doorway,  and  Monsignor  as  he  set  foot  on  the 
first  had  a  vivid  impression  that  the  court  he  was 
approaching  was  crowded  with  people.  There  was 
no  sound  at  first,  but  an  atmosphere  of  intense  and 
expectant  force. 

It  was  a  little  curtained  gallery  in  which  the  priest 
found  himself,  not  unlike  a  box  at  a  theater,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  court  from  the  corner  immedi- 
ately adjacent  to  the  wall  against  which  the  raised 
seats  of  the  judges  were  placed.  He-  looked  round 
the  court,  himself  sitting  a  little  back  in  a  kind  of 
shame,  first  identifying  the  actors  in  this  dreadful 
drama.  He  was  glad  that  the  gallery  had  no  other 
occupant  than  himself. 

First  there  were  the  judges  —  three  men  sitting 
beneath  a  canopied  roof,  beneath  which,  over  their 
heads,  hung  a  large  black  and  white  crucifix.  He 
knew  them,  all  three.  There  was  the  Dominican  in 
the  center  —  one  of  that  Order  which  has  had 
charge  of  heresy  courts  since  the  beginning  —  a 
large-faced,  kindly-featured,  rosy  man,  with  a 
crown  of  white  hair,  leaning  back  now  with  closed 


222  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

eyes,  listening,  and  obviously  alert;  on  his  right, 
farther  from  the  spectator,  sat  the  Canon-Theolo- 
gian of  Westminster,  a  small,  brown-faced  man 
with  black  eyes,  looking  considerably  younger  than 
his  years;  and  on  this  side  the  third  judge,  pale  and 
bald  and  colorless  —  a  priest  who  held  the  degree 
of  Doctor  in  Physical  Science  as  well  as  in  The- 
ology —  he  at  this  instant  was  drumming  gently 
with  a  large  white  hand  on  the  edge  of  his  desk. 

Beneath  the  judges'  dais  was  the  well  of  the 
court,  very  much,  somehow,  as  Monsignor  had  ex- 
pected ( for  this  was  his  first  experience  in  a  Church 
court),  with  the  clerks'  table  immediately  beneath 
the  desks,  and  half  a  dozen  ecclesiastics  ranged  at 
it.  Some  strange-looking  instruments  stood  within 
reach  of  the  presiding  clerk,  but  he  recognized  these 
as  the  mechanical  recorders,  of  which  he  had  had 
some  experience  himself.  They  were  of  the  nature 
of  phonographs,  and  by  an  exceedingly  ingenious 
and  yet  very  simple  system  could  be  made  to  repeat 
aloud  any  part  of  the  speeches  or  answers  that  had 
been  uttered  in  the  course  of  the  trial.  At  either 
end  of  the  clerks'  table  rose  up  a  structure  like  a 
witness-box,  slightly  below  the  level  of  the  judges' 
desks.  Opposite  the  desks  was  the  lightly  railed 
dock  for  the  prisoner.  The  rest  of  the  court  was 
seated  for  the  public,  and  as  the  spectator  saw,  was 
completely  filled,   chiefly  with  ecclesiastics.     Even 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  223 

the  gangways  were  thronged  with  standing  figures. 
And  over  all  hung  that  air  of  intense  expectancy 
and  attention. 

He  glanced  once  more  round  the  court,  once  more 
at  the  judges.  Then  he  allowed  himself  to  look 
full  at  the  prisoner,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  his 
departure  from  Lourdes. 

Dom  Adrian  was  just  as  he  remembered  him, 
perhaps  a  shade  paler  from  the  fierce  attention  of 
the  last  three  days,  but  he  had  the  same  serene,  con- 
fident air;  his  eyes  were  bright  and  luminous,  and 
his  voice  (for  he  was  speaking  at  this  moment) 
perfectly  natural  and  controlled. 

It  was  hard  at  first  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  what 
he  was  saying.  He  had  a  sheet  or  two  of  paper 
before  him,  to  which  he  referred  as  he  spoke,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  summing  up,  in  a  very  allusive  man- 
ner, some  earlier  speeches  of  his.  Technical  terms 
made  their  appearance  from  time  to  time,  and  de- 
crees were  quoted  by  their  initial  Latin  words  — 
decrees  which  conveyed  nothing  to  the  listener  in 
the  gallery.  It  was  difficult,  too,  at  this  distance, 
to  understand  the  very  swift  Latin  which  he  spoke 
in  a  conversational  voice  that  was  almost  casual. 
His  whole  air  was  of  one  who  is  interested,  but  not 
overwhelmingly  concerned,  in  the  subject  under  de- 
bate. 

He  ended  at  last,  and  bowed. 


224  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Obviously  they  were  not  at  a  very  critical  part  of 
the  trial,  thought  Monsignor.  He  felt  extraor- 
dinarily reassured.  He  had  expected  more  of  a 
scene. 

The  Dominican  opened  his  eyes  and  took  up  a  pen. 
He  glanced  at  his  companions,  but  they  made  no 
sign  or  movement. 

**  You  have  made  it  perfectly  clear,"  he  said. 
"  Nothing  could  be  clearer.  I  see "  (he  turned 
slightly  to  right  and  left,  and  his  fellow- judges 
nodded  gently  in  acquiescence)  — ''  I  see  no  reason 
to  modify  what  I  said  just  now,  and  the  judgment 
of  the  court  must  stand.  Nothing  can  be  clearer 
to  my  mind  —  and  I  must  say  that  my  assessors 
wholly  concur,  as  you  heard  just  now  —  nothing 
can  be  clearer  than  that  you  have  contradicted  in 
the  most  express  terms  the  decrees  in  question,  and 
that  you  have  refused  to  modify  or  to  withdraw 
any  of  the  theses  under  dispute.  Further,  you  have 
refused  to  avail  yourself  of  any  of  the  releases 
which  are  perfectly  open  to  you  by  law.  You  de- 
clined all  those  openings  which  I  indicated  to  you, 
and  you  appear  determined  to  push  the  matter  to 
extremes.  I  must  tell  you  then  plainly  that  I  see 
nothing  for  it  but  the  forwarding  of  our  opinions 
to  Rome,  and  I  cannot  hold  out  to  you  the  smallest 
prospect  that  you  will  meet  with  a  different  judg- 
ment from  the  highest  court." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  225 

He  paused  a  moment. 

There  was  a  profound  silence  in  the  court.  As 
Monsignor  Masterman  glanced  round,  unable  to  un- 
derstand what  it  was  that  caused  this  sense  of  tre- 
mendous tension,  he  noticed  a  head  or  two  in  that 
array  of  faces  drop  suddenly  as  if  in  overwhelming 
emotion.  He  looked  at  the  prisoner ;  but  there  was 
no  movement  there.  The  young  monk  had  put  his 
papers  neatly  together,  and  was  standing,  upright 
and  motionless,  with  his  hands  clasped  upon  them. 
The  Dominican's  voice  went  on  abruptly  — 

"  Have  you  anything  further  to  say  before  the 
court  dissolves?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  express  my  sense  of  the  ex- 
treme fairness  and  considerateness  of  my  judges," 
said  the  monk,  "  to  say  again,  as  at  the  beginning, 
that  I  commit  my  cause  unreservedly  into  the  hands 
of  God." 

The  three  judges  rose  together;  a  door  opened 
behind  and  they  disappeared.  Instantly  a  buzz  of 
tongues  began  and  the  sound  of  shifting  feet.  As 
Monsignor  glanced  back  again  at  the  dock,  amazed 
at  the  sudden  change  of  scene,  he  saw  the  monk's 
head  disappearing  down  the  staircase  that  led  be- 
low from  the  dock.  He  still  did  not  understand 
what  had  happened.  He  still  thought  that  it  was 
some  minor  stage  of  the  process  that  was  finished, 
probably  on  some  technical  point. 


226  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 


(n); 


He  still  sat  there  wondering,  thinking  that  he 
would  let  the  corridors  clear  a  little  before  he  went 
out  again,  and  asking  himself  what  it  was  that  had 
caused  that  obvious  sensation  during  the  judge's 
last  words.  To  all  outward  appearance,  nothing 
could  be  less  critical  than  what  he  had  seen  and 
heard.  Plainly  the  trial  was  going  against  the  pris- 
oner, but  there  had  been  no  decision,  no  sentence. 
The  inquisitors  and  the  prisoner  had  talked  together 
almost  like  friends  discussing  a  not  very  vital  mat- 
ter. And  yet  the  sensation  had  been  overwhelm- 
ing.    .     .     . 

As  he  rose  at  last,  still  watching  the  emptying 
court,  he  heard  a  tap  on  the  door,  and  before  he 
could  speak,  the  Abbot  of  Westminster  rustled  up 
the  steps,  in  his  habit  and  cross  and  gold  chain. 
His  face  looked  ominously  strained  and  pale. 

"  I  ...  I  saw  you  from  the  court,  Monsig- 
nor.  For  God's  sake  ...  sit  down  again  an 
instant.     Let  me  speak  with  you." 

Monsignor  said  nothing.  He  could  not  even  now 
understand. 

"  I  must  thank  you  for  your  kind  offices,  Mon- 
signor.    I  know  you  did  what  you  could.     His  Em- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  227 

inence  sent  for  me  after  he  had  seen  you.  And 
.  .  .  and  I  must  ask  you  to  help  us  again 
.     .     .     at  Rome." 

"  Certainly  —  anything.     .     .     .     But  — " 

"  I  fear  it's  hopeless,"  went  on  the  abbot,  star- 
ing out  into  the  empty  court,  where  an  usher  was 
moving  quickly  about  from  table  to  table  setting 
papers  straight.  "  But  any  chance  that  there  is 
must  be  taken.  .  .  .  Will  you  write  for  us, 
Monsignor?  or  better  still,  urge  the  Cardinal? 
There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

^'  I  don't  understand,  my  lord,"  said  the  prelate 
abruptly,  suddenly  convinced  that  more  had  hap- 
pened than  he  knew.  "  I  was  only  here  just  at  the 
end,  and     .     .     .     what  is  it  I  can  do  ?  " 

The  abbot  looked  at  him. 

"  That  was  the  end,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Did  you 
not  hear  the  sentence  ?  " 

Monsignor  shook  his  head.  A  kind  of  sickness 
seemed  to  rise  from  his  heart  and  envelope  him. 

"  I  heard  nothing,"  he  said.  "  I  came  in  during 
Dom  Adrian's  last  speech." 

The  abbot  licked  his  dry  lips;  there  was  a  won- 
dering sort  of  apprehensiveness  in  his  eyes. 

"  That  was  the  last  formality,"  he  said.  "  Sen- 
tence was  given  twenty  minutes  ago." 

"  And  •— " 


22S  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

The  abbot  bowed  his  head,  plucking  nervously  at 
his  cross. 

"  It  has  to  go  to  Rome  to  be  ratified,"  he  said 
hurriedly.  "  There  will  be  a  week  or  two  of  delay. 
Dom  Adrian  refused  any  release.  But  .  .  . 
but  he  knows  there  is  no  hope." 

Monsignor  Masterman  leaned  back  and  drew  a 
long  breath.  He  understood  now.  But  he  per- 
ceived he  must  give  no  sign.  The  abbot  talked  on 
rapidly ;  the  other  caught  sentences  and  names  here 
and  there :  he  grasped  that  there  was  no  real  possi- 
bility of  a  reversal  of  the  judgment,  but  that  yet 
every  effort  must  be  made.  But  it  was  only  with 
one  part  of  his  mind,  and  that  the  most  superficial, 
that  he  attended  to  all  this.  Interiorly  he  was  oc- 
cupied wholly  wdth  facing  the  appalling  horror  that, 
with  the  last  veil  dropped  at  last,  now  looked  him  in 
the  eyes. 

He  stood  up  at  last,  promising  he  would  see  the 
Cardinal  that  night;  and  then  his  resolve  leapt  to 
the  birth. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Dom  Adrian  alone,"  he  said 
quietly ;  "  and  I  had  better  see  him  at  once.  Can 
you  arrange  that  ?  "  The  abbot  stopped  at  the  door 
of  the  gallery. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  think  so.  Will  you  wait  here, 
Monsignor?  " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  229 

(HI) 

Monsignor  Masterman  lifted  his  eyes  as  the  door 
closed,  and  saw  the  young  monk  standing  before, 
beside  the  little  table. 

He  had  sat  down  again  in  the  gallery  while  the 
abbot  was  gone,  watching  mechanically  the  ushers 
come  into  the  court  and  remove  the  recording-boxes 
one  by  one;  and  meantime  in  his  soul  he  watched 
also,  rather  than  tried  to  arrange,  the  thoughts  that 
fled  past  in  ceaseless  repetition.  He  could  plan 
nothing,  formulate  nothing.  He  just  perceived,  as 
a  man  himself  sentenced  to  death  might  perceive, 
that  the  Supreme  Horror  was  a  reality  at  last.  The 
very  ordinariness  of  the  scene  he  had  witnessed, 
the  familiarity  of  some  of  the  faces  (he  had  sat 
next  at  dinner,  not  a  week  ago,  the  brown- faced 
Canon-Theologian),  the  conversational  manner  of 
the  speakers,  the  complete  absence  of  any  dramatic 
solemnity  —  these  things  increased  the  terror  and 
repugnance  he  felt.  Were  the  preliminaries  of 
Death  for  Heresy  so  simple  as  all  that?  Was  the 
point  of  view  that  made  it  possible  so  utterly  ac- 
cepted by  every  one  as  to  allow  the  actual  consum- 
mation to  come  about  so  quietly  ?     .     .     . 

The  thing  seemed  impossible  and  dreamlike.  He 
strove  to  hold  himself  quiet  till  he  could  under- 
stand.    .     .     . 


230  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

But  at  the  sight  of  the  young  monk,  pale  and 
tired-looking,  yet  perfectly  serene,  his  self-control 
broke  down.  A  spasm  shook  his  face ;  he  stretched 
out  his  hands  blindly  and  helplessly,  and  some  sound 
broke  from  his  mouth. 

He  felt  himself  takeii  by  the  arm  and  led  for- 
ward. Then  he  slipped  into  a  chair,  and  dropped 
his  face  in  his  hands  upon  the  table. 

It  was  a  few  moments  before  he  recovered  and 
looked  up. 

"  There,  there,  Monsignor,"  said  the  monk.  '^  I 
I  didn't  expect  this.  There's  nothing 
to—" 

"But     .     .     .     but—" 

"  It's  a  shock  to  you,  I  see.  .  .  .  It's  very 
kind.  .  .  .  But  I  knew  it  all  along.  Surely 
you  must  have  known  — " 

"  I  never  dreamt  of  it.  I  never  thought  it  con- 
ceivable.    It's  abominable;  it's — " 

"  Monsignor,  this  isn't  kind  to  me,"  rang  out  the 
young  voice  sternly;  and  the  elder  man  recovered 
himself  sharply.  "  Please  talk  to  me  quietly. 
Father  Abbot  tells  me  you  will  see  the  Cardinal." 

*'  I'll  do  anything  —  anything  in  my  power.  Tell 
me  what  I  can  do." 

He  had  recovered  himself,  as  under  a  douche  of 
water,  at  the  sharpness  of  the  monk's  tone  just  now. 
He  felt  but  one  thing  at  this  instant,  that  he  would 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  231 

strain  every  force  he  had  to  hinder  this  crime.  He 
remained  motionless,  conscious  of  that  sensation  of 
intense  tightness  of  nerve  and  sinew  in  which  an 
overpressed  mind  expresses  itself. 

The  monk  sat  down,  on  the  further  side  of  the 
table. 

"That's  better,  Monsignor,"  he  said,  smiling. 
..."  Well,  there's  really  not  much  to  do.  In- 
sanity seems  the  only  possible  plea." 

He  smiled  again,  brilliantly. 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  thing,"  said  the  prelate  sud- 
denly and  hoarsely.  "Just  the  outline.  I  don't 
understand;  and  I  can  do  nothing  unless  I  do." 

"You  haven't  followed  the  case?" 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 

The  monk  considered  again. 

"  Well,"  he  said.  "  This  is  the  outline ;  I'll  leave 
out  technical  details.  I  have  written  a  book  (which 
will  never  see  the  light  now)  and  I  sent  an  abstract 
of  it  to  Rome,  giving  my  main  thesis.  It's  on  the 
miraculous  element  in  Religion.  I'm  a  Doctor  in 
Physical  Science,  you  know,  as  well  as  in  Theology. 
Now  there's  a  certain  class  of  cure  (I  won't  bother 
you  with  details,  but  a  certain  class  of  cure)  that 
has  always  been  claimed  by  theologians  as  evidently 
supernatural.  And  I'll  acknowledge  at  once  that 
one  or  two  of  the  decrees  of  the  Council  of 
i960   certainly     seem   to    support   them.     But   my 


2Z2  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

thesis  is,  first,  that  these  cures  are  perfectly  explica- 
ble by  natural  means,  and  secondly,  that  therefore 
these  decrees  must  be  interpreted  in  a  sense  not  usu- 
ally received  by  theologians,  and  that  tliey  do  not 
cover  the  cases  in  dispute.  I'm  not  a  willful  heretic, 
and  I  accept  absolutely,  therefore,  that  these  decrees, 
as  emanating  from  an  ecumenical  council,  are  in- 
fallibly true.  But  I  repudiate  entirely  —  since  I  am 
forced  to  do  so  by  scientific  fact  (or,  we  will  say, 
by  what  I  am  persuaded  is  scientific  fact) — the 
usual  theological  interpretation  of  the  wording  of 
the  decrees.  Well,  my  judges  take  the  other  view. 
They  tell  me  that  I  am  wrong  in  my  second  point, 
and  therefore  wrong  also  in  my  first.  They  tell  me 
that  the  decrees  do  categorically  cover  the  class  of 
cure  I  have  dealt  with ;  that  such  cures  have  been 
pronounced  by  the  Church,  therefore,  to  be  evidently 
supernatural;  and  that  therefore  I  am  heretical  in 
both  my  points.  On  my  side,  I  refuse  to  submit, 
maintaining  that  I  am  differing,  not  from  the  Cath- 
olic Church  as  she  really  is  (which  would  be  hereti- 
cal), but  from  the  Catholic  Church  as  interpreted 
by  these  theologians.  I  know  it's  rash  of  me  to  set 
myself  against  a  practically  universal  and  received 
interpretation ;  but  I  feel  myself  bound  in  conscience 
to  do  so.  Very  well ;  that  is  the  point  we  have  now 
reached.  I  could  not  dream  of  separating  myself 
from  Catholic  Unity,  and  therefore  that  way  of  es- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  233 

cape  is  barred.  There  was  nothing  for  it,  then,  but 
for  my  judges  to  pronounce  sentence ;  and  that  they 
did,  ten  minutes  before  you  came  in.  (I  saw  you 
come  in,  Monsignor.)  I  am  sentenced,  that  is  to 
say,  as  an  obstinate  heretic  —  as  refusing  to  submit 
to  the  plain  meaning  of  an  ecumenical  decree.  There 
remains  Rome.  The  whole  trial  must  go  there  ver- 
batim. Three  things  may  happen.  Either  I  am 
summoned  to  explain  any  statements  that  may  seem 
obscure.  (That  certainly  will  not  happen.  I  have 
been  absolutely  open  and  clear.)  Or  the  sentence 
may  be  quashed  or  modified.  And  that  I  do  not 
think  will  happen,  since  I  have,  as  I  know,  all  the 
theologians  against  me." 

There  was  a  pause. 

The  prelate  heard  the  words,  and  indeed  followed 
their  sense  with  his  intellect ;  but  it  appeared  to  him 
as  if  this  concise  analysis  had  no  more  vital  connec- 
tion with  the  real  facts  than  a  doctor's  diagnosis 
with  the  misery  of  a  mourner.  He  did  not  want 
analysis;  he  wanted  reassurance.  Then  he  braced 
himself  up  to  meet  the  unfinished  sentence. 
"  Or  — "  he  murmured. 

"  Or  the  sentence  will  be  ratified,"  said  the  monk 
quietly.  And  again  there  was  silence.  It  was  the 
monk  again  who  broke  it.  "  Where  Father  Abbot 
seems  to  think  you  can  help  me,  perhaps,  Monsig- 
nor, is  in  persuading  the  Cardinal  to  write  to  Rome. 


234  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

I  do  not  quite  know  what  he  can  do  for  me;  but  I 
suppose  the  idea  is  that  he  may  succeed  in  urging 
that  the  point  is  a  disputed  one,  and  that  the  case 
had  better  wait  for  further  scientific  as  well  as 
theological  investigation." 

Monsignor  flung  out  his  hands  suddenly.  The 
strain  had  reached  breaking-point. 

"  What's  the  good!  "  he  cried.  "  It's  the  system 
—  the  whole  system  that's  so  hateful  .  .  . 
hateful  and  impossible." 

"What?" 

"  It's  the  system,"  he  cried  again.  "  From  be- 
ginning to  end  it's  the  system  that's  wrong.  I  hate 
it  more  every  day.  It's  brutal,  utterly  brutal  and 
unchristian."  He  stared  miserably  at  the  young 
monk,  astonished  at  the  cold  look  in  his  eyes. 

The  monk  looked  at  him  questioningly  —  with- 
out a  touch  of  answering  sympathy,  it  seemed  — 
merely  with  an  academic  interest. 

**  I  don't  understand,  Monsignor.  What  is  it  that 
you—" 

"  You  don't  understand !  You  tell  me  you  don't 
understand!  You  who  are  suffering  under  it! 
Why—" 

"  You  think  I'm  being  unjustly  treated?  Is  that 
it?     Of  course  I,  too,  don't  think  that  — " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  cried  the  elder  man.  "  It's  not 
you   in  particular.     I   don't   know   about  that  —  I 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  235 

don't  understand.  But  it's  that  any  living  being 
can  live  under  such  tyranny  —  such  oppression  of 
free  thought  and  judgment!  What  becomes  of  sci- 
ence and  discovery  under  a  system  like  this  ?  What 
becomes  of  freedom  —  of  the  right  to  think  for 
oneself?     Why—'' 

The  young  monk  leaned  a  little  over  the  table. 

"  Monsignor,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing. Tell  me  quietly  what  it  is  that's  troubling 
you.  Quietly,  if  you  please.  I  can't  bear  much 
more  strain." 

The  man  who  had  lost  his  memory  mastered  him- 
self with  an  effort.  His  horror  had  surged  up  just 
now  and  overwhelmed  him  altogether,  but  the  ex- 
traordinary quiet  of  the  other  man  and  his  appar- 
ently frank  inability  to  understand  what  was  the 
matter  brought  him  down  again  to  reality.  Sub- 
consciously, too,  he  perceived  that  it  would  be  a  re- 
lief to  himself  to  put  his  developing  feeling  into 
words  to  another. 

"  You  wish  me  to  say  ?     Very  well  — " 

He  hesitated  again  for  words. 

*'  You  are  sure  you'd  better  ?  I  know  you've  been 
ill.     I  don't  want  to  — " 

Monsignor  waved  it  away  with  a  little  gesture. 

''  That's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  ill  now. 
I  wish  to  God  I  were !  " 

'*  Quietly,  please,"  said  the  young  man. 

16 


236  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  swallowed  in  his  throat  and  rearranged  him- 
self in  his  chair.  He  felt  himself  alone  and  aban- 
doned, even  where  he  had  been  certain  of  an  emo- 
tional sympathy. 

"  I  know  I'm  clean  against  public  opinion  in 
what  I  think.  I've  learnt  that  at  last.  I  thought 
at  first  that  it  was  the  other  way,  as  ...  as  I 
think  it  must  have  been  a  hundred  years  ago.  But 
I  see  now  that  all  the  world  is  against  me  —  all 
except,  perhaps,  the  people  who  are  called  in- 
fidels.'^ 

"  You  mean  the  Socialists?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  Church  is  .  .  ."  (he  hesitated,  to  pick  his 
words)  "is  assuming  an  impossible  attitude.  Take 
your  own  case ;  though  that's  only  one :  it's  the  same 
everywhere.  There  are  the  sumptuary  and  domes- 
tic laws;  there's  the  'repression,'  as  they  call  it,  of 
the  Socialists.  But  take  your  own  case.  You  are 
perfectly  satisfied  that  your  conclusions  are  scien- 
tific, aren't  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You're  a  Christian  and  a  Catholic.  And  yet, 
because  these  conclusions  of  yours  are  condemned 
—  not  answered,  mind  you,  or  refuted  by  other  sci- 
entists—  but  just  condemned  —  condemned  by  ec- 
clesiastics as  contrary  to  what  they  assume  to  be 
true  —  you     .     .     .     you  are  — " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  237 

He  broke  off,  struggling  again  with  fierce  emo- 
tion. 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Monsignor,  you're  too  excited.  May  I  ask  you 
some  questions  instead  ?  " 

Monsignor  nodded. 

"  Well,  don't  take  my  case  only.  Take  the  sys- 
tem, as  you  said  just  now.  I  really  want  to  know. 
.  .  .  You  think  that  the  Socialists  ought  not  to 
be  repressed  —  that  every  man  ought  to  be  free  to 
utter  his  opinions,  whatever  they  may  be.  Is  that 
it?" 

"  Yes." 

"  However  revolutionary  they  may  be  ?  " 

Monsignor  hesitated.  He  had  considered  this 
point  before.  He  felt  his  answer  was  not  wholly 
satisfactory.     But  the  monk  went  on. 

"  Suppose  these  opinions  were  subversive  of  all 
law  and  order.  Suppose  there  were  men  who 
preached  murder  and  adultery  —  doctrines  that 
meant  the  destruction  of  society.  Would  you  allow 
these,  too,  to  publish  their  opinions  broadcast?  " 

"Of  course,  you  must  draw  the  line  somewhere," 
began  Monsignor.     "Of  course — " 

"Where?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?  " 

"  You  said  that  we  must  draw  the  line  some- 
where.    I  ask  you  where?  " 


238  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Well,  that,  of  course,  must  be  a  matter  of  de- 
gree." 

"  Surely  it  must  be  one  of  principle.  .  .  . 
Can't  you  give  me  any  principle  you  would  allow  ?  " 

The  passion  of  just  now  seemed  wholly  gone. 
Monsignor  had  an  uncomfortable  sense  that  he  had 
behaved  like  a  child  and  that  this  young  monk  was 
on  firmer  ground  than  himself.  But  again  he  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Well,  would  you  accept  this  principle  ?  "  asked 
Dom  Adrian.  *'  Would  you  say  that  every  society 
has  a  right  to  suppress  opinions  which  are  directly 
subversive  to  the  actual  foundations  on  which  itself 
stands?  Let  me  give  an  instance.  Suppose  you 
had  a  country  that  was  a  republic,  but  that  allowed 
that  other  forms  of  government  might  be  equally 
good.  (Suppose,  for  instance,  that  while  all  ac- 
quiesced more  or  less  in  the  republic,  yet  that  many 
of  the  citizens  personally  preferred  a  monarchy.)' 
Well,  I  suppose  you  would  say  it  was  tyranny  for 
the  republic  to  punish  the  monarchists  with  death?  " 

''  Certainly." 

"  So  should  L  But  if  a  few  of  the  citizens  re- 
pudiated all  forms  of  government  and  preached  An- 
archy, well,  I  suppose  you  would  allow  that  the 
government  would  have  a  perfect  right  to  silence 
them?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  239 

"  Of  course,"  said  Dom  Adrian  quietly.  "  It  was 
what  you  allowed  just  now.  Society  may,  and 
must,  protect  itself." 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  These  Socialists 
are  not  Anarchists.  You're  not  an  atheist.  And 
even  if  you  were,  what  right  would  the  Church  have 
to  put  you  to  death?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  the  Church  wouldn't  put 
me  to  death  then." 

Monsignor  made  an  impatient  movement. 

"  I  don't  understand  in  the  least,"  he  said.  "  It 
seems  to  me  — " 

"  Well,  shall  I  give  you  my  answer  ?  " 

Monsignor  nodded. 

The  monk  drew  a  breath  and  leaned  back  once 
more.  To  the  elder  man  the  situation  seemed  even 
more  unreal  and  impossible  than  at  the  beginning. 
He  had  come,  full  of  fierce  and  emotional  sympathy, 
to  tell  a  condemned  man  how  wholly  his  heart  was 
on  his  side,  to  repudiate  with  all  his  power  the 
abominable  system  that  had  made  such  things  possi- 
ble. And  now,  in  five  minutes,  the  scene  had  be- 
come one  of  almost  scholastic  disputation;  and  the 
heretic,  it  seemed  —  the  condemned  heretic  —  was 
defending  the  system  that  condemned  him  to  a  man 
who  represented  it  as  an  official !  He  waited,  almost 
resentfully. 

"  Monsignor,"  said  the  young  man,  *'  forgive  me 


240  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

for  saying  so;  but  it  seems  to  me  you  haven't 
thought  this  thing  out  —  that  you're  simply  carried 
away  by  feehng.  No  doubt  it's  your  illness.  .  .  . 
Well,  let  me  put  it  as  Avell  as  I  can.     .     .     /' 

He  paused  again,  compressing  his  lips.  He  was 
pale,  and  evidently  holding  himself  hard  in  hand; 
but  his  eyes  were  bright  and  intelligent.  Then  he 
abruptly  began  again. 

"  What's  wrong  with  you,  Monsignor,"  he  said, 
"  is  that  you  don't  realize  —  again,  no  doubt,  owing 
to  your  loss  of  memory  —  that  you  don't  realize 
that  the  only  foundation  of  society  at  the  present 
day  is  Catholicism.  You  see  vre  knoiv  now  that 
Catholicism  is  true.  It  has  reasserted  itself  finally. 
Every  other  scheme  has  been  tried  and  has  failed; 
and  Catholicism,  though  it  has  never  died,  has  once 
more  been  universally  accepted.  Even  heathen 
countries  accept  it  de  facto  as  the  scheme  on  which 
the  life  of  the  human  race  is  built.  Very  well,  then, 
the  man  who  strikes  at  Catholicism  strikes  at  so- 
ciety. If  he  had  his  w^ay  society  would  crumble 
down  again.  Then  what  can  Catholic  society  do  ex- 
cept defend  itself,  even  by  the  death  penalty?  Re- 
member, the  Church  does  not  kill.  It  never  has ;  it 
never  will.  It  is  society  that  puts  to  death.  And 
it  is  certainly  true  to  say  that  theologians,  as  a  whole, 
would  undoubtedly  abolish  the  death  penalty  to-mor- 
row if  they  could.     It's  an  open  secret  that  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  241 

Holy  Father  would  do  away  with  it  to-morrow  if 
he  could." 

''  Then  why  doesn't  he  ?  Isn't  he  supreme  ?  " 
snapped  the  other  bitterly. 

"  Indeed  not.  Countries  rule  themselves.  He 
only  has  a  veto  if  an  actually  unchristian  law  is 
passed.  And  this  is  not  actually  unchristian.  It's 
based  on  universal  principles." 

"  But  — " 

"Wait  an  instant.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  Church 
sanctions  it.  So  did  the  Church  approve  of  the 
death  penalty  in  the  case  of  murder  —  another  sin 
against  society.  Well,  Christian  society  a  hundred 
years  ago  inflicted  death  for  the  murder  of  the 
body;  Christian  society  to-day  inflicts  death  for  a 
far  greater  crime  against  herself  —  that  is,  murder- 
ous attacks  against  her  own  life-principle." 

"  Then  the  old  Protestants  were  right  after  all," 
burst  in  Monsignor  indignantly ;  **  they  said  that 
Rome  would  persecute  again  if  she  could." 

"  If  she  could?  "  said  the  monk  questioningly. 

"If  she  was  strong  enough." 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  cried  the  other,  beating  his  hand 
on  the  table  in  gentle  impatience ;  "  it  would  be  hope- 
lessly immoral  for  the  Church  to  persecute  simply 
because  she  was  strong  enough  —  simply  because 
she  had  a  majority.  She  never  persecutes  for  mere 
opinions.     She  has  no  right  to  use  force.     But,  as 


242  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

soon  as  a  country  is  convincedly  Catholic  —  as  soon, 
that  is  to  say,  as  her  civihzation  rests  upon  Cathol- 
icism and  nothing  else,  that  country  has  a  perfect 
right  to  protect  herself  by  the  death  penalty  against 
those  who  menace  her  very  existence  as  a  civilized 
community.  And  that  is  what  heretics  do ;  and  that 
is  what  Socialists  do.  Whether  the  authorities  are 
right  or  wrong  in  any  given  instance  is  quite  an- 
other question.  Innocent  men  have  been  hanged. 
Orthodox  Catholics  have  suffered  unjustly.  Per- 
sonally I  believe  that  I  myself  am  innocent;  but  I 
am  quite  clear  that  if  I  am  a  heretic"  (he  leaned 
forward  again  and  spoke  slowly),  "  if  I  am  a  heretic, 
I  must  be  put  to  death  by  society." 

Monsignor  was  dumb  with  sheer  amazement,  and 
a  consciousness  that  he  had  been  baffled.  He  felt 
he  had  been  intellectually  tricked ;  and  he  felt  it  an 
additional  outrage  that  he  had  been  tricked  by  this 
young  monk  with  whom  he  had  come  to  sympa- 
thize. 

"But  the  death  penalty!"  he  cried.  ''Death! 
that  is  the  horror.  I  understand  a  spiritual  pen- 
alty   for   a   spiritual   crime  —  but   a   physical   one, 

Dom  Adrian  smiled  a  little  wearily. 

"  My  dear  Monsignor,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  I  had 
explained  that  it  was  for  a  crime  against  society. 
I  am  not  put  to  death  for  my  opinions ;  but  because, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  243 

holding  tnose  opinions,  which  are  declared  heretical, 
and  refusing  to  submit  to  an  authoritative  decision, 
I  am  an  enemy  of  the  civil  state  which  is  upheld 
solely  by  the  sanctions  of  Catholicism.  Remember 
it  is  not  the  Church  that  puts  me  to  death.  That  is 
not  her  affair.     She  is  a  spiritual  society." 

"  But  death !  death,  anyhow !  " 

The  man's  face  grew  grave  and  tender. 

'*  Is  that  so  dreadful,"  he  said,  "  to  a  convinced 
Catholic?" 

Monsignor  rose  to  his  feet.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  his  whole  moral  sense  was  in  danger.  He  made 
his  last  appeal. 

''But  Christ!"  he  cried;  "Jesus  Christ!  Can 
you  conceive  that  gentle  Lord  of  ours  tolerating  all 
this  for  one  instant!  I  cannot  answer  you  now; 
though  I  am  convinced  there  is  an  answer.  But  is 
it  conceivable  that  He  who  said,  '  Resist  not  evil,' 
that  He  who  Himself  was  dumb  before  his  murder- 
ers — " 

Dom  Adrian  rose,  too.  An  extraordinary  inten- 
sity came  into  his  eyes,  and  his  face  grew  paler  still. 
He  began  in  a  low  voice,  but  as  he  ended  his  voice 
rang  aloud  in  the  little  room. 

"  It  is  you  who  are  dishonoring  our  Lord,"  he 
said.  "  Certainly  He  suffered,  as  we  Catholics,  too, 
can  suffer,  as  you  shall  see  one  day  —  as  you  have 
seen  a  thousand  times  already,  if  you  know  any- 


244  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

thing  of  the  past.  But  is  that  all  that  He  is? 
.  .  .  Is  He  just  the  Prince  of  Martyrs,  the  su- 
preme Pain-bearer,  the  silent  Lamb  of  God?  Have 
you  never  heard  of  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb?  of  the 
eyes  that  are  as  a  flame  of  fire?  of  the  rod  of  iron 
with  which  He  breaks  in  pieces  the  kings  of  the 
earth?  .  .  .  The  Christ  you  appeal  to  is  noth- 
ing. It  is  but  the  failure  of  a  Man  with  the  Divinity 
left  out  .  .  .  the  Prince  of  sentimentalists,  and 
of  that  evil  old  religion  that  once  dared  to  call  itself 
Christianity.  But  the  Christ  we  worship  is  more 
than  that  —  the  Eternal  Word  of  God,  the  Rider  on 
the  W^hite  Horse,  conquering  and  to  conquer. 
.  .  .  Monsignor,  you  forget  of  what  Church  you 
are  a  priest!  It  is  the  Church  of  Him  who  refused 
the  kingdoms  of  this  world  from  Satan,  that  He 
might  win  them  for  Himself.  He  has  done  so! 
Christ  reigns!  .  .  .  Monsignor,  that  is  what 
you  have  forgotten !  Christ  is  no  longer  an  opinion 
or  a  theory.  He  is  a  Fact.  Christ  reigiis!  He 
actually  rules  this  world.  And  the  world  knows 
it." 

He  paused  for  one  second,  shaking  with  his  own 
passion.     Then  he  flung  out  his  hands. 

"  Wake  up,  Monsignor !  Wake  up !  You  are 
dreaming.  Christ  is  the  King  of  men  again,  now  — 
not  of  just  religiously  minded  devots.  He  rules, 
because  He  has  a  right  to  rule.     .     .     .     And  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  245 

civil  power  stands  for  Him  in  secular  matters,  and 
the  Church  in  spiritual.  I  am  to  be  put  to  death! 
Well,  I  protest  that  I  am  innocent,  but  not  that  the 
crime  charged  against  me  does  not  deserve  death. 
I  protest,  but  I  do  not  resent  it.  Do  you  think  I 
fear  death?  ...  Is  that  not  in  His  hands, 
too?  .  .  .  Christ  reigns,  and  we  all  know  it. 
And  you  must  know  it,  too !  " 

All  sensation  seemed  to  have  ebbed  from  the  man 
who  listened.  .  .  .  He  was  conscious  of  a  white 
ecstatic  face  with  burning  eyes  looking  at  him.  He 
could  no  longer  actively  resist  or  rebel.  It  was  only 
by  the  utmost  effort  that  he  could  still  keep  from 
yielding  altogether.  Some  great  pressure  seemed  to 
enfold  and  encircle  him,  threatening  his  very  ex- 
istence as  an  individual.  So  tremendous  was  the 
force  with  which  the  words  were  spoken,  that  for 
an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  he  saw  in  mental  vision 
that  which  they  described  —  a  Supreme  Dominant 
Figure,  wounded  indeed,  yet  overmastering  and 
compelling  in  His  strength  —  no  longer  the  Christ 
of  gentleness  and  meekness,  but  a  Christ  who  had 
taken  His  power  at  last  and  reigned,  a  Lamb  that 
was  a  Lion,  a  Servant  that  was  Lord  of  all;  One 
that  pleaded  no  longer,  but  commanded.     .     .     . 

And  yet  he  clung  still  desperately  and  blindly  to 
his  old  ideal.  He  pushed  off  from  Him  this  dom- 
inating Presence;  his  whole  self  and  individuality 


246  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

would  not  yield  to  Him  who  demanded  the  sacrifice 
of  both.  He  saw  this  Christ  at  last,  and  by  a  flash 
of  intuition  perceived  that  this  was  the  key  to  this 
changed  world  he  found  so  incomprehensible;  and 
yet  he  would  not  have  it  —  he  would  not  have  this 
Man  to  rule  over  him.     . 

He  made  one  last  effort ;  the  vision  passed  and  he 
stood  up,  feeling  once  more  sensation  come  back, 
understanding  that  he  had  saved  himself  from  an 
extinction  more  utter  than  that  of  death. 

"  Well,"  he  said  quietly  —  so  quietly  that  he  al- 
most deceived  himself,  too, — "  well,  I  will  remem- 
ber what  you  say,  Dom  Adrian,  and  I  will  do  what 
I  can  with  the  Cardinal." 


CHAPTER  lY 

(I) 

CCT'M  afraid  it's  been  a  great  shock,"  said  Father 
**■  Jervis  soothingly.  **  And  Fm  not  surprised, 
after  your  illness.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  quite  see  your 
point.  Of  course  it  must  seem  very  strange. 
.  .  .  Now  what  about  coming  over  to  Ireland 
for  a  week?  The  Cardinal  will  be  delighted,  I'm 
sure." 

The  blow  had  fallen  this  morning  —  a  fortnight 
after  the  trial  had  ended. 

First,  the  answer  had  come  back  from  Rome  that 
the  sentence  was  ratified  —  a  sentence  simply  to  the 
effect  that  the  Church  could  no  longer  protect  this 
tonsured  and  consecrated  son  of  hers.  Then  the 
formalities  of  handing  over  the  monk  to  the  secular 
authorities  had  taken  place,  in  accordance  with  the 
Clergy  Discipline  Amendment  Act  of  1964  —  an 
Act  by  which  the  secular  houses  of  Representatives 
had  passed  a  code  of  penalties  for  clerks  condemned 
by  the  ecclesiastical  courts  —  clerks,  that  is  to  say, 
who  had  availed  themselves  of  Benefit  of  Clergy 
and  had  submitted  themselves  to  ecclesiastical  juris- 

247 


248  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

diction.  Under  that  Act  Dom  Adrian  had  been  re- 
moved to  a  secular  prison,  his  case  had  been  re- 
examined and  the  secular  sentence  passed.  And 
this  morning  Monsignor  had  read  that  the  sentence 
had  been  carried  out.  .  .  .  He  neither  knew 
nor  dared  to  ask  in  what  form.  It  was  enough  that 
it  was  death. 

There  had  been  a  scene  with  the  startled  secre- 
taries. Fortunately  Monsignor  had  been  incoher- 
ent. One  of  them  had  remained  with  him  while 
the  other  ran  for  Father  Jervis.  Then  the  two  lay- 
men had  left  the  room,  and  the  priests  alone  to- 
gether. 

Things  were  quieter  now.  Monsignor  had  recov- 
ered himself,  and  was  sitting  white  and  breathless 
with  his  friend  beside  him. 

*'  Come  to  Ireland  for  a  week,"  said  the  old  man 
again,  watching  him  with  those  large,  steady,  bright 
eyes  of  his.  "  It  is  perfectly  natural,  under  the 
circumstances,  that  the  thing  should  be  a  shock.  To 
us,  of  course — '' 

He  broke  off  as  Monsignor  looked  up  with  a 
strange  white  glare  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You  must  give 
yourself  a  chance.  You've  been  working  magnifi- 
cently; I  think  perhaps  a  little  too  hard.  And  we 
don't  want  another  breakdown.  .  .  .  Then  I 
take  it  you'll  come  to  Ireland?     We'll  spend  a  per- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  249 

fectly  quiet  week,  and  be  back  in  time  for  the  meet- 
ing of  Parliament." 

Monsignor  made  a  small  movement  of  assent  with 
his  head.  (He  had  had  Ireland  explained  to  him 
before.) 

"  Then  I'll  leave  you  quietly  here  for  a  little. 
Call  me  up  if  you  want  me.  I'll  tell  the  secretaries 
to  work  in  the  next  room.  I'll  see  the  Cardinal  at 
once,  and  we'll  go  by  the  five  o'clock  boat.  I'll  ar- 
range everything.     You  needn't  give  it  a  thought." 

A  curious  process  seemed  to  have  been  at  work 
upon  the  mind  of  the  man  who  had  lost  his  mem- 
ory, since  his  interview  with  the  monk  immediately 
after  the  trial.  At  first  a  kind  of  numbness  had 
descended  upon  him.  He  had  gone  back  to  his  busi- 
ness, his  correspondence,  his  interviews,  his  daily 
consultation  with  the  Cardinal,  and  had  conducted 
all  these  things  efficiently  enough.  Yet,  underneath, 
the  situation  arranged  itself  steadily  and  irresistibly. 
It  had  become  impressed  upon  him  that,  whether  for 
good  or  evil,  the  world  was  as  it  was ;  that  Christian 
civilization  had  taken  the  form  which  he  perceived 
round  him,  and  that  to  struggle  against  it  was  as 
futile,  from  a  mental  point  of  view,  as  to  resent  the 
physical  laws  of  the  universe.  Nothing  followed 
upon  such  resistance  except  intense  discomfort  to 
oneself.  It  might  be  insupportably  unjust  that  one 
could  not  fly  without  wings,  yet  the  fact  remained. 


250  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

It  might  be  intolerably  unchristian  that  a  tonsured 
clerk  should  be  put  to  death  for  heresy,  yet  he  was 
put  to  death,  and  not  a  soul,  it  seemed  (not  even  the 
victim  himself)  resented  it.  Dom  Adrian's  protest 
had  been  not  against  the  execution  of  heretics,  but 
against  the  statement  that  he  was  a  heretic.  But 
he  had  refused  to  submit  to  a  decision  which  he  ac- 
knowledged as  authoritative,  and  found  no  fault, 
therefore,  with  the  consequence  of  such  refusal.  The 
condemnation,  he  granted,  was  perfectly  legal  and 
therefore  extrinsically  just;  and  it  was  the  penalty 
he  had  to  pay  for  an  individualism  which  the  re- 
sponsible authorities  of  the  State  regarded  as  dan- 
gerous to  the  conditions  on  which  society  rested. 
And  the  rest  was  the  business  of  the  State,  not  of 
the  Church. 

The  scheme  then  -was  beginning  to  grow^  clear  to 
this  man's  indignant  eyes.  Even  the  "  repression  " 
of  the  Socialists  fitted  in,  logically  and  inexorably. 
And  he  began  to  understand  a  little  more  w^hat  Dom 
Adrian  had  meant.  There  stood,  indeed,  imminent 
over  the  world  (whether  ideally  or  actually  w^as  an- 
other question)  a  tremendous  Figure  that  was  al- 
ready even  more  Judge  than  Saviour  —  a  Person- 
ality that  already  had  the  Power  and  reigned;  one 
to  whose  feet  all  the  world  crept  in  silence,  who 
spoke  ordinarily  and  normally  through  His  Vicar 
on  earth,  w^ho  was  represented  on  this  or  that  plane 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  251 

by  that  court  or  the  other;  one  who  was  literally  a 
King  of  kings;  to  whose  model  all  must  be  con- 
formed; to  whose  final  judgment  every  creature 
might  appeal  if  he  would  but  face  that  death  through 
which  alone  that  appeal  might  be  conveyed.  Such 
was  the  scheme  which  this  priest  began  to  discern; 
and  he  saw  how  the  explanation  of  all  that  bewil- 
dered him  lay  within  it.  Yet  none  the  less  he  re- 
sented it;  none  the  less  he  failed  to  recognize  in  it 
that  Christianity  he  seemed  once  to  have  known, 
long  ago.  Outwardly  he  conformed  and  submitted. 
Inwardly  he  was  a  rebel. 

He  sat  on  silent  for  a  few  minutes  when  his 
friend  had  left  him,  gradually  recovering  balance. 
He  knew  his  own  peril  well  enough,  but  he  was  not 
yet  certain  enough  of  his  own  standpoint  —  and 
perhaps  not  courageous  enough  —  to  risk  all  by  de- 
claring it.  He  felt  helpless  and  powerless  —  like  a 
child  in  a  new  school  —  before  the  tremendous 
forces  in  whose  presence  he  found  himself.  For 
the  present,  at  least,  he  knew  that  he  must  obey. 
*     •     • 

"  You  will  be  astonished  at  Ireland,"  said  Father 

Jervis  a  few  hours  later,  as  they  sat  together  in  the 

little  lighted  cabin  on  their  way  across   England. 

"  You  know,  of  course,  the  general  outlines?  " 
17 


252  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Monsignor  roused  himself. 

"  I  know  it's  the  Contemplative  Monastery  of 
Europe,"  he  said. 

"  Just  so.  It's  also  the  mental  hospital  of  Eu- 
rope. You  see  it's  very  favorably  placed.  None  of 
the  great  lines  of  volors  pass  over  it  now.  It's  en- 
tirely secluded  from  the  world.  Of  course  there  are 
the  secular  business  centers  of  the  country,  as  they 
always  were,  in  north  and  south  —  Dublin  and  Bel- 
fast; they're  like  any  other  towns,  only  rather 
quieter.  But  outside  there  you  might  say  that  the 
whole  island  is  one  monastic  enclosure.  I've 
brought  a  little  book  on  it  I  thought  you  might  like 
to  look  at." 

He  handed  a  little  volume  out  of  his  bag.  (It 
was  printed  on  the  usual  nickel-sheets,  invented  by 
Edison  fifty  years  before.) 

"And  to-night?"  asked  Monsignor  heavily. 

"  To-night  we're  staying  at  Thurles.  I  made  all 
arrangements  this  afternoon." 

"  And  our  programme  ?  " 

Father  Jervis  smiled. 

"  That'll  depend  on  the  guest-master,"  he  said. 
"  We  put  ourselves  entirely  under  his  orders,  as  I 
told  you.  He'll  see  us  to-night  or  to-morrow  morn- 
ing; and  the  rest  is  in  his  hands." 

"  What's  the  system?  "  asked  Monsignor  suddenly 
and  abruptly  looking  at  him. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  253 

''The  system?" 

''  Yes." 

Father  Jervis  considered. 

''  It's  hard  to  put  it  into  words,"  he  said.  "  I 
suppose  you  might  say  that  they  used  atmosphere 
and  personaHty.  They're  the  strongest  forces  we 
know  of —  far  stronger,  of  course,  than  argument. 
It's  very  odd  how  they  used  to  be  neglected  — " 

"Eh?" 

*'  Yes ;  until  quite  recently  there  was  hardly  any 
deliberate  use  of  them  at  all.  Well,  now  we  know 
that  they  effect  more  than  any  persuasion  .  .  . 
or  .  .  .  diet.  And  of  course  enclosed  Re- 
ligious naturally  become  experts  in  interior  self- 
command,  and  therefore  can  apply  these  things  bet- 
ter than  any  one  else." 

He  waved  his  hands  vaguely  and  explanatorily. 

*'  It's  impossible  to  put  it  into  words,"  he  said. 
"  The  very  essence  of  it  is  that  it  can't  be." 

Monsignor  sighed  and  looked  drearily  out  of  the 
window. 

As  the  hours  of  the  day  had  gone  by  it  had  been 
this  dreariness  that  had  deepened  on  him,  after  the 
violent  emotions  of  the  morning.  It  was  as  if  he 
already  saw  himself  beaten  down  and  crushed  by 
those  forces  he  had  begun  to  recognize.  And  even 
this  reminder  that  he  was  passing  for  a  few  days 
under  a  tyranny  that  was  yet  more  severe  failed  to 


254  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

requicken  any  resentment.  Inwardly  the  fire  smol- 
dered still  red  and  angry ;  outwardly  he  was  passive 
and  obedient,  and  scarcely  wished  to  be  otherwise. 

There  was  nothing  of  interest  to  be  seen  out  of 
the  window.  The  autumn  evening  was  drawing  in, 
and  the  far-off  horizon  of  hills,  with  the  rim  of  the 
sea  already  visible  beyond  it,  was  dark  and  lead- 
colored  under  the  darkening  sky.  He  thought 
vaguely  of  Dom  Adrian,  in  that  melancholy  and  in- 
effective mood  that  evening  suggests  ...  he 
had  been  alive  at  this  hour  last  night  .  .  .  and 
now  .  .  .  Well,  he  had  passed  to  the  secret 
which  this  world  interpreted  now  so  confidently. 

They  halted  above  Dublin,  and  he  watched,  as 
weeks  ago  at  Brighton,  the  lighted  stage  swing  out- 
side the  windows.  He  noted  a  couple  of  white- 
frocked  monks  or  friars,  hooded  in  black,  standing 
among  the  rest.  Then  he  watched  the  stage  drop 
out  of  sight,  and  the  lights  of  Dublin  spin  eastwards 
and  vanish.  Then  he  turned  listlessly  to  the  book 
his  friend  had  given  him,  and  began  to  read. 

As  he  stood  himself  on  the  platform  at  Thurles, 
bag  in  hand  (they  brought  no  servants  to  Ireland), 
it  seemed  to  him  that  already  there  was  a  certain 
sense  of  quietness  about  him.  He  told  himself  it 
was  probably  the  result  of  self-suggestion.  But, 
for  all  that,  it  seemed  curiously  still.     Beneath  he 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  255 

saw  great  buildings,  flattened  under  the  height  at 
which  he  stood  —  court  after  court,  it  appeared,  each 
lighted  invisibly  and  as  clear  as  day.  Yet  no  figures 
moved  across  them;  and  in  the  roadways  that  ran 
here  and  there  was  no  crawling  stream  of  ant-like 
beings  such  as  he  had  seen  elsewhere.  Even  the 
officials  seemed  to  speak  in  undertones ;  and  Father 
Jervis  said  no  word  at  all.  Then,  as  he  felt  the 
swift  dropping  movement  beneath  his  feet,  he  saw 
the  great  lighted  ship  he  had  just  left  whirl  off  west- 
wards, resembling  a  gigantic  luminous  moth,  yet 
without  bell  or  horn  to  announce  its  journey. 

He  followed  his  friend  out  through  the  doorway 
of  the  ground-platform  to  which  the  stage  de- 
scended, and  into  the  interior  of  a  great  white  car 
that  waited  —  still  with  a  strange  sense  of  irrespon- 
sibility and  heaviness.  He  supposed  that  all  was 
w^ell  —  as  well  as  could  be  in  a  world  such  as  this. 
Then  he  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  There 
were  three  or  four  others  in  the  great  car,  he  no- 
ticed; but  all  were  silent. 

He  opened  them  again  as  the  car  stopped.  But 
the  priest  beside  him  made  no  movement.  He 
looked  out  and  saw  that  the  car  was  halted  between 
two  high  walls  and  in  front  of  a  great  arched  gate- 
way. Even  as  he  looked  the  gates  rolled  back 
noiselessly  and  the  car  moved  through.  (The  others 
had  got  out,  he  noticed.) 


256  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

It  seemed,  as  they  sped  on,  as  if  they  were  going 
through  the  streets  of  some  strange  dead  city.  All 
through  which  they  passed  was  perfectly  visible  in 
the  white  artificial  light.  Now  they  ran  between 
high  walls;  now  along  the  side  of  a  vast  courtyard; 
now  a  structure  resembling  the  side  of  a  cloister 
slid  by  them  swiftly  and  steadily  —  gone  again  in 
an  instant.  It  was  not  until  afterwards  that  he 
realized  that  there  had  hardly  been  one  window  to  be 
seen ;  and  not  one  living  being. 

And  then  at  last  the  car  stopped,  and  a  monk 
in  brown  opened  the  door  of  the  car. 

(Ill) 

Monsignor  woke  next  morning,  already  conscious 
of  a  certain  sense  of  well-being,  and  looked  round 
the  little  white  room  in  which  he  lay,  agreeably  ex- 
pectant. 

Last  night  had  helped  to  soothe  him  a  little.  He 
had  supped  with  his  friend  in  a  small  parlor  down- 
stairs, after  having  been  warned  not  to  speak,  ex- 
cept in  case  of  absolute  necessity,  to  the  lay  brother 
who  waited  on  them;  and  after  supper  had  had  ex- 
plained to  him  more  at  length  what  the  object  of  the 
expedition  really  was.  It  was  the  custom,  he  heard, 
for  persons  suffering  from  overstrain  or  depression, 
whether  physical,  mental,  or  spiritual,  to  come  across 
to  Ireland  to  one  of  those  Religious  Houses  with 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  257 

which  the  whole  country  was  covered.  The  only- 
thing  demanded  of  these  retreatants  was  that  they 
should  obey,  absolutely  and  implicitly,  the  directions 
given  to  them  during  their  stay,  and  that  their  stay 
should  not  be  less  than  for  three  full  days. 

'*  We  shall  not  meet  after  to-night,"  said  Father 
Jervis,  smiling.  "  I  shall  be  under  as  strict  orders 
as  you." 

After  they  had  parted  for  the  night,  the  man  who 
had  lost  his  memory  had  studied  the  little  book  given 
to  him,  and  had  learned  more  or  less  the  system 
under  which  Ireland  lay.  The  whole  island,  he 
learned,  was  the  absolute  and  inalienable  possession, 
held  under  European  guarantees,  of  the  enclosed 
Religious  Orders,  with  whose  dominion  no  interfer- 
ence was  allowed.  All  the  business  offices  of  the 
country  and  the  ports  of  the  enormous  agricultural 
industries  were  concentrated  in  Dublin  and  Belfast ; 
the  rest  of  the  island  was  cultivated,  ruled,  and 
cared  for  by  the  monks  themselves.  (He  read 
drearily  through  the  pages  of  statistics  showing 
how  once  again,  as  in  mediaeval  days,  under  the 
labor  of  monks  the  land  had  blossomed  out  into  ma- 
terial prosperity;  and  how  this  prosperity  still  in- 
creased, year  by  year,  beyond  all  reckoning.)  Of 
men,  there  were  the  Carthusians,  the  Carmelites,  the 
Trappists,  and  certain  sections  of  Benedictines;  of 
women,  there  were  the  Carmelites,  the  Poor  Clares, 


258  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  Augustinian  canonesses,  and  certain  other  Bene- 
dictines. Special  arrangements  between  these  regu- 
lated the  division  of  the  land  and  of  the  responsibili- 
ties; and  the  Central  Council  consisted  of  the  Pro- 
curators and  other  representatives  of  the  various 
bodies. 

In  return  for  the  possession  of  the  land,  and  for 
the  protection  guaranteed  by  the  European  govern- 
ments, one,  and  one  only  demand  was  made  — 
namely,  that  a  certain  accommodation  should  be  of- 
fered —  the  amount  determined  by  agreement  year 
by  year  —  both  for  these  Retreat-houses  in  general, 
and  for  what  were  called  "  Hospitals-of-God  "  in 
particular.  These  hospitals  were  nothing  else  in 
reality  than  enormous  establishments  for  the  treat- 
ment of  the  mentally  unbalanced;  for  it  had  been 
found  by  recent  experience  that  the  atmosphere  su- 
premely successful  in  such  cases  —  especially  those 
of  certain  well-marked  types  —  was  the  atmosphere 
of  the  strongest  and  most  intense  religion.  Statis- 
tics had  shown  without  a  doubt  that,  even  apart 
from  cases  of  actual  possession  (a  phenomenon  per- 
fectly recognized  now  by  all  scientists),  minds  that 
were  merely  weak  or  subject  to  neutral  delusions 
recovered  incalculably  more  quickly  and  surely  in 
the  atmosphere  of  a  Religious  House  than  in  any 
other.     These   cases,   too,   were   isolated   with   the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  259 

greatest  care,  owing  to  the  extraordinary  discoveries 
recently  made,  and  verified  over  and  over  again,  in 
the  realm  of  ''  mental  infection." 

So  Monsignor  had  learned  last  night;  and  as  he 
lay  in  his  little  white  room  this  morning,  waiting  for 
the  instructions  that  he  had  been  informed  would 
arrive  before  he  need  get  up,  it  seemed  that  even  to 
his  own  tortured  brain  some  breath  of  relief  had 
already  come.  The  world  seemed  perfectly  still. 
Once  from  far  away  he  heard  the  note  of  a  single 
deep-toned  bell ;  but,  for  the  rest,  there  was  silence. 
There  was  no  footstep  in  the  house,  no  footstep  out- 
side. From  where  he  lay  he  could  see  out  through 
his  low  window  into  a  tiny  windowless  court,  white 
like  his  own  room,  except  where  the  level  lawn  ran 
to  the  foot  of  the  wall  and  a  row  of  tawny  autumn 
flow^ers  rose  against  it.  Above  the  white  carved 
parapet  opposite  ran  skeins  of  delicate  cloud  against 
the  soft  blue  sky.  It  was  strange,  he  thought,  to  be 
conscious  in  this  utter  solitude  and  silence  of  an 
incomparable  peace.     .     .     . 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  he  saw  that  the 
hooded  lay  brother  had  come  in  while  he  dozed,  and 
had  begun  to  set  the  room  to  rights.  A  door,  w^hite 
like  the  wall,  which  he  had  not  noticed  last  night, 
stood  open  opposite  his  bed,  and  he  caught  sight  of 
a  tiny  bathroom  beyond.     A  little  fire  of  wood  was 


26o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

leaping  in  the  white-tiled  chimney;  and  before  it 
stood  a  table.  The  window,  too,  was  set  open,  and 
the  pleasant  autumn  air  streamed  in. 

Then  the  brother  came  up  to  the  bedside,  his  face 
invisible  under  the  peaked  hood  that  hung  over  it. 
He  uttered  a  sentence  or  two  in  Latin,  bidding  him 
get  up  and  dress.  He  was  not  to  say  Mass  this 
morning.  "  Father  "  would  come  in  as  soon  as  he 
had  breakfasted  and  give  him  his  instructions  for 
the  day.     That  was  all. 

Monsignor  got  out  of  bed  and  went  into  the  bath- 
room, where  his  clothes  were  already  arrayed. 
When  he  came  back  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  he 
found  a  tray  set  out  with  simple  food  and  milk  on 
the  table  beside  the  fire.  As  he  finished  and  said 
grace  the  door  opened  noiselessly,  and  a  priest  "in 
the  Carthusian  habit  came  in,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

(IV) 

As  the  two  faced  one  another  for  an  instant,  the 
Englishman  perceived  in  a  glance  that  this  monk 
was  one  of  the  most  impressive-looking  men  he  had 
ever  set  eyes  on.  He  was  well  over  six  feet  in 
height,  and,  in  his  rough,  clumsy  white  dress  he 
seemed  enormously  muscular  and  powerful.  He 
carried  himself  loosely,  with  an  air  of  strength,  al- 
most swinging  in  his  gait.     But  it  was  his  face  that 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  261 

above  all  was  remarkable.  His  hood  lay  back  on 
his  shoulders,  and  from  its  folds  rose  his  strong 
throat  and  head,  all  as  hairless  as  a  statue's ;  and  as 
the  priest  glanced  at  him  he  saw  that  strange  sug- 
gestion as  of  a  bird's  head  that  some  types  convey » 
His  nose  was  long,  thin,  and  curved ;  his  lips  color- 
less and  compressed;  his  cheeks  modeled  in  folds 
and  hollows  over  the  bones  beneath;  and  his  eyes, 
of  an  extraordinarily  light  gray,  looked  out  under 
straight  upper  lids,  as  of  an  eagle. 

So  much  for  the  physical  side. 

But,  stranger  than  all  this,  was  the  unmistakable 
atmosphere  that  seemed  to  enter  with  him  —  an  at- 
mosphere that  from  one  side  produced  a  sense  of 
great  fear  and  helplessness,  and  on  the  other  of  a 
kind  of  security.  In  an  instant  Monsignor  felt  as 
a  wounded  child  might  feel  in  the  presence  of  a  sur- 
geon. And,  throughout  the  interview  that  followed, 
this  sensation  deepened  incalculably. 

The  man  said  nothing  —  not  even  a  word  of 
greeting  —  as  he  came  across  the  room.  He  just 
inclined  his  head  a  little,  with  a  grave  and  business- 
like courtesy,  and  waved  the  other  back  into  his 
chair.  Then,  still  standing  himself,  he  began  to 
speak  in  a  deep  but  quite  quiet  voice,  and  very 
slowly  and  distinctly. 

''  You  understand,  Monsignor,  the  terms  on  which 
you  are  here?     Yes.     Very  well.     I  do  not  wish 


262  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

you  to  say  Mass  until  your  last  morning.  I  have 
spoken  to  Father  Jervis  about  you.     .     .     . 

"  Meanwhile,  for  to-day  you  are  at  liberty  to  walk 
in  the  court  outside  as  much  as  you  w^ish,  to  read  as 
you  wish  —  in  fact,  to  occupy  yourself  as  you  like 
in  this  room,  the  ambulatory  downstairs,  the  roof 
overhead,  and  the  garden.  You  are  to  write  no  let- 
ters, and  to  speak  to  no  one.  You  will  have  your 
meals  in  the  next  room  alone,  where  you  will  also 
find  a  few  books.  I  wish  you  to  get  as  quiet  and 
controlled  as  you  can.  To-morrow  morning  I  will 
come  in  again  at  the  same  time  and  give  you  further 
directions.  You  will  find  a  tribune  opening  out  at 
the  end  of  this  corridor,  looking  into  a  chapel  where 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  is  reserved.  But  I  do  not 
wash  you  to  spend  there  more  than  one  hour  in  the 
course  of  the  day." 

The  monk  was  silent  again,  and  did  not  even 
raise  his  eyes.  Monsignor  said  nothing.  There 
was  really  nothing  to  say.  He  felt  entirely  power- 
less, and  not  even  desirous  to  speak.  He  under- 
stood that  to  obey  was  simply  inevitable,  and  that 
silence  was  what  was  wished. 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  rehearse  at  all  what  you 
intend  to  say  to  me  to-morrow,"  went  on  the  monk 
suddenly.  "  You  are  here  to  show  me  yourself  and 
your  wounds,  and  there  must  be  no   false  shame. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  263 

You  will  say  what  you  feel  to-morrow,  and  I  shall 
say  what  I  think.     I  wish  you  a  happy  retreat." 

Then,  again  without  a  word,  but  with  that  same 
inclination  of  his  head,  he  went  swiftly  across  the 
room  and  was  gone. 

It  was  all  completely  unexpected,  and  Monsignor 
sat  a  few  minutes  astonished,  without  moving.  He 
had  not  uttered  a  syllable ;  and  yet,  in  a  sense,  that 
seemed  quite  natural.  He  had  seen  the  monk  look 
at  him  keenly  as  he  came  in,  and  w^as  aware  that 
that  had  been  the  inspection  by  some  new  kind  of 
expert.  Probably  the  monk  had  heard  the  outlines 
of  the  case  from  Father  Jervis,  and  had  just  looked 
in  this  morning,  not  only  to  give  his  instructions,  but 
to  ratify  by  some  peculiar  kind  of  intuition  the  ac- 
count he  had  heard.  Yet  the  ignominy  of  it  all 
did  not  touch  him  in  the  least.  He  felt  more  than 
ever  like  a  child  in  the  hands  of  an  expert,  and,  like 
a  child,  content  to  be  so.  Conventions  and  the  mu- 
tual little  flatteries  of  the  world  outside  appeared 
meaningless  here. 

He  said  a  little  office  presently,  and  then  set  out 
to  explore  his  ground. 

The  room  he  was  in  communicated  with  a  lobby 
outside,  from  which  a  staircase  descended  to  a 
little  cloistered  and  glazed  ambulatory  opening  on 
to  the  garden.     Another  staircase  rose  to  a  door 


264  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

obviously  leading  to  the  roof.  Besides  the  bed- 
room door  there  were  two  others ;  the  one  which  he 
entered  first  took  him  into  a  little  sitting-room  also 
looking  on  to  the  garden,  and  furnished  simply  with 
a  table,  an  easy  chair,  and  a  few  books ;  the  other 
opened  directly  on  to  a  tiny  gallery  looking  out 
sideways  upon  a  perfectly  plain  sanctuary,  with  a 
stone  altar,  a  lamp,  and  a  curtained  tabernacle, 
which  seemed  to  be  a  chapel  of  some  church  whose 
roof  only  was  visible  beyond  a  high  closed  screen. 
He  knelt  here  a  minute  or  two,  then  he  passed 
back  again  to  the  lobby  and  ascended  the  staircase 
leading  to  the  roof.  He  thought  that  from  here 
he  might  form  some  idea  as  to  the  place  in  which  he 
was. 

The  flat  roof,  tiled  across,  and  guttered  so  as  to 
allow  the  rain-water  to  escape,  at  first  seemed  closed 
in  on  all  sides  with  walls  over  six  feet  high.  Then 
he  perceived  that  each  wall  was  pierced  with  a  tiny 
double  window,  so  contrived  that  it  was  possible  to 
see  out  easily  and  comfortably  without  being  seen. 
He  went  straight  to  one  of  these  and  looked  through. 
As  far  as  he  could  see  stretched  what  looked  like 
the  roofs  of  a  great  town,  for  the  most  part 
flattish,  but  broken  here  and  there,  and  especially 
towards  the  horizon,  by  tall  buildings  pierced  with 
windows,  and  in  three  or  four  cases  by  church  tow- 
ers.    Lnmediately  beneath   him  lay  a  vast  court- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  265 

yard  like  that  of  a  college,  with  a  cluster  of  elms, 
ruddy  with  autumn  colors,  in  the  midst  of  the  cen- 
tral lawn.  There  was  no  human  being  in  sight 
on  this  side;  the  roofs,  many  of  them  parapeted  like 
his  own,  stretched  out  into  the  distance,  their  ranks 
here  and  there  broken  by  lines  which  appeared  to 
indicate  roadways  running  beneath.  He  saw  a 
couple  of  cats  on  the  grass  below. 

On  all  sides,  as  he  went  from  window  to  window 
of  the  little  roofless  room,  there  was  the  same  kind 
of  prospect.  In  one  direction  he  thought  he  rec- 
ognized the  way  he  must  have  come  last  night; 
and,  looking  more  carefully,  noticed  that  the  town 
seemed  to  be  less  extended.  Half  a  mile  away  the 
roofs  ceased,  standing  up  against  a  mass  of  foliage 
that  blotted  out  all  beyond.  It  was  here  that  he 
caught  sight  of  a  man  —  a  white  figure  that  crossed 
a  patch  of  road  that  curved  into  sight  and  out  again. 

It  was  extraordinarily  still  in  this  Religious  town. 
Certainly  there  were  a  few  sounds;  a  noise  of  far- 
off  hammering  came  from  somewhere  and  presently 
ceased.  Once  he  heard  a  door  close  and  footsteps 
on  stone  that  faded  into  silence ;  once  he  heard  the 
cry  of  a  cat,  three  or  four  times  repeated;  and 
once,  all  together,  from  every  direction  at  once, 
sounded  bells,  each  striking  one  stroke. 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  after  a  while, 
marveling,    trying    to    reconstruct    his    ideas    once 


266  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

more,  and  to  take  in  the  astonishing  system  and 
organization  whose  signs  were  so  evident  about  him. 
Certainly  it  was  thorough  and  efficient.  There  must 
be  countless  institutions  —  hospitals,  retreat-houses, 
cloisters,  besides  all  the  offices  and  business  cen- 
ters necessary  for  carrying  on  this  tremendous 
work;  and  yet  practically  no  indication  of  any  move- 
ment or  bustle  made  itself  apparent.  So  far  as 
solitude  was  concerned,  he  might  be  imprisoned  in 
a  dead  city.  And  all  this  deepened  his  impressions 
of  peace  and  recuperation.  The  silence,  through  his 
knowledge,  was  alive  to  him.  There  must  be,  al- 
most within  sound  of  a  shout,  hundreds  of  living 
persons  like  himself  yet  all  intent,  in  some  form 
or  another,  upon  that  same  overwhelming  silence 
in  which  facts  could  be  received  and  relations  read- 
justed. 

Yet  even  this,  as  he  reflected  upon  it,  had  certain 
elements  of  terror.  Here  again,  under  another  dis- 
guise, was  the  force  that  he  had  feared  in  London 
—  the  force  that  had  sent  Dom  Adrian  noiselessly 
out  of  life,  that  proposed  to  deal  with  refractory 
instincts  in  human  nature  —  such  as  manifested 
themselves  in  Socialism  —  as  a  householder  might 
deal  with  a  plague  of  mice,  drastically  and  irresisti- 
bly ;  the  force  that  moved  the  wheels  and  drove  the 
soundless  engines  of  that  tremendous  social-religious 
machine  of  which  he,  too,  was  a  part.     It  was  here. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  267 

too,  then;  it  was  this  that  had  closed  him  in  here 
for  three  days  in  his  tiny  domicile  in  this  great 
dumb  city;  it  was  this  that  held  the  whole  under 
an  invisible  discipline;  it  was  this  that  had  looked 
at  him  out  of  the  hawk's  eyes  and  spoken  to  him 
through  the  colorless  lips  of  the  monk  who  had 
given  him  his  instructions  this  morning.     .     .     . 

Once  more  then  his  individuality  began  to  reassert 
itself,  and  to  attempt  to  cast  off  the  spell  even  of 
this  peace  that  promised  relief.  He  became  aware 
of  an  extraordinary  loneliness  of  soul,  an  isolation 
in  the  deepest  regions  of  his  soul  from  all  others. 
The  rest  of  the  world,  it  seemed,  had  an  under- 
standing about  these  matters.  Father  Jervis  and 
the  Carthusian,  no  doubt,  had  talked  him  over ;  they 
accepted  as  an  established  and  self-evident  philos- 
ophy this  universal  unity  and  authority;  they  re- 
garded himself,  who  could  not  yet  so  accept  it,  as 
a  spiritual,  if  not  an  actual  mental  invalid.  .  .  . 
He  had  been  brought  here  to  be  treated.  .  .  . 
Well,  he  would  hold  his  own. 

And  then  another  mood  comes  on  him — a  tempta- 
tion, as  it  seemed  to  him  then,  to  fling  personal  re- 
sponsibility overboard;  to  accept  this  tremendous 
claim  of  authority  to  control  even  the  thoughts  of 
the  heart.  Surely  peace  lay  this  way.  To  submit 
to  this  crowned  and  sceptered  Christ ;  to  reject  for- 
ever   the    other  —  this    meant    relief    and    sanity. 

18 


268  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  walked  more  and  more  quickly  and  abruptly 
up  and  down  the  little  tiled  space.  He  was  con- 
scious of  a  conflict  all  confused  with  dust  and 
smoke.  He  began  to  hesitate  as  to  which  was  the 
higher,  even  which  was  the  tolerable  course  —  to 
sink  his  individuality,  to  throw  up  his  hands  and 
drown,  or  to  assert  that  individuality  openly  and 
defiantly,  and  to  take  the  consequences. 

(V) 

He  awoke  the  next  morning  after  a  troubled  night, 
conscious  instantly  of  a  sense  of  crisis.  In  one  way 
or  another,  it  seemed,  he  would  have  to  come  to  a 
decision.  The  monk  would  be  with  him  in  less  than 
an  hour. 

He  dressed  as  before  and  breakfasted.  Then,  as 
the  monk  did  not  come,  he  went  out  to  the  tribune 
to  pray  and  to  prepare  himself. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  door  opened  quietly,  and 
the  lay-brother  who  had  attended  on  him  bowed  to 
him  as  he  turned,  in  sign  that  he  was  to  come. 

The  monk  was  standing  by  the  fireplace  as  he 
came  in ;  he  bowed  very  slightly.  Then  the  two  sat 
down.  "  Tell  me  why  you  have  come  here,  Mon- 
signor." 

The  prelate  moistened  his  lips.  He  was  aware 
again  of  an  emotion  that  was  partly  terror  and 
partly  confidence.     And  there  was  mixed  with  it, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  269 

too,  an  extraordinary  sense  of  simplicity.  Con- 
ventionalities were  useless  here,  he  saw ;  he  was  ex- 
pected to  say  what  was  in  his  heart,  but  at  first  he 
dared  not. 

''  I  .  .  .  I  was  recommended  to  come,"  he 
said.     "  My  friends  thought  I  needed  a  little  rest." 

The  other  nodded  gently.  He  was  no  longer 
looking  straight  at  him,  the  secular  priest  was  re- 
lieved to  see. 

"  Yes?     And  what  form  does  It  take?  " 

Still  the  patient  hesitated.  He  began  a  sentence 
or  two,  and  stopped  again. 

Then  the  monk  lifted  his  great  head  and  looked 
straight  at  him. 

"  Be  quite  simple,  Monsignor,"  he  said,  "  you 
need  fear  nothing.  You  are  here  to  be  helped,  are 
you  not  ?     Then  tell  me  plainly." 

Monsignor  got  up  suddenly.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  must  move  about.  He  felt  restless,  as  a  man 
who  has  lived  In  twilight  might  feel  upon  coming 
out  Into  sudden  brilliant  and  healthful  sunlight. 
He  began  to  walk  to  and  fro.  The  other  said  noth- 
ing, but  the  restless  man  felt  that  the  eyes  were 
watching  and  following  every  movement.  He  re- 
flected that  It  was  unfair  to  be  stared  at  by  eyes 
that  were  gray,  outlined  In  black,  and  crossed  by 
straight  lids.     Then  he  summoned  his  resolution. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  *'  I  am  unhappy  altogether." 


270  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

''Yes?     (Sit  down,  please,  Monslgnor.)  " 

He  sat  down,  and  leaned  his  forehead  on  his 
hands. 

"  You  are  unhappy  altogether,"  repeated  the 
monk.  "  And  what  form  does  that  unhappiness 
take?" 

Monsignor  lifted  his  face. 

''Father,"  he  said,  "you  know  about  me?  You 
know  about  my  history  ?     .     .     .     My  memory  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that.  But  It  is  not  that  which 
makes  you  unhappy?  " 

"  No,"  cried  the  priest  suddenly  and  impulsively, 
"  it  is  not  that.  I  wish  to  God  it  were !  I  wish  to 
God  my  memory  could  leave  me  again !  " 

"  Quietly,  please." 

But  the  other  paid  no  attention. 

"  It  is  .  .  .  it  is  the  world  I  am  living  in  — 
this  brutal  world.     .     .     .     Father,  help  me !  " 

The  monk  drew  a  breath  and  leaned  back,  and 
his  movement  had  the  effect  of  a  call  for  silence. 
Neither  spoke  for  a  moment. 

Then  — 

"  Just  tell  me  quite  simply,  from  the  beginning," 
said  the  monk. 

(VI) 

It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  later  that  Monsignor 
ended,  and  leaned  back,  at  once  exhausted  and  ex- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  271 

cited.     He  had  said  it  all  —  he  had  said  even  more 
than  he  had  previously  formulated  to  himself.    Now 
and  then,  as  he  paused,  the  monk  with  a  word  or 
two,  or  a  strangely  compelling  look,  had  soothed 
or  encouraged  him.     And  he  had  told  the  whole 
thing  —  the  sense  that  there  was  no  longer  any  es- 
cape from  Christianity,  that  it  had  dominated  the 
world,  and  that  it  was  hateful  and  tyrannical  in  its 
very  essence.     He  confessed  that  logic  was  against 
him,  that  a  wholly  Christian  society  must  protect 
itself,  that  he  saw  no  way  of  evading  the  conse- 
quences that  he  had  witnessed;  and  yet  that  his  en- 
tire moral  sense  revolted  against  the  arguments  of 
his  head.     It  seemed  to  him,  he  said  in  effect,  as 
if  he  were  held  in  a  grip  which  controlled  his  whole 
sentiment;  as  if  the  universe  itself  were  in  a  con- 
spiracy against  him.     For  there  was  wanting,  he 
said,  exactly  that  which  was  most  characteristic  of 
Christianity,  exactly  that  which  made  it  divine  — 
a  heavenly  patience  and  readiness  to  suffer.     The 
cross  had  been  dropped  by  the  Church,  he  said,  and 
shouldered  by  the  world. 

The  monk  sat  silent  a  moment  or  two,  as  motion- 
less as  he  had  been  at  the  beginning.  Monsignor 
perceived  by  now,  even  through  his  fierce  agitation, 
that  this  man  never  moved  except  for  a  purpose; 
he  made  no  gestures  when  he  spoke;  he  turned  his 
head  or  lifted  his  eyes  only  when  it  was  necessary. 


2J2  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Then  the  monk's  voice  began  again,  level  and  un- 
emotional : 

"  A  great  deal  of  what  you  say,  Monsignor,  is 
merely  the  effect  of  a  nervous  strain.  A  nervous 
strain  means  that  the  emotional  or  the  receptive 
faculties  gain  an  undue  influence  over  the  reasona- 
ble intelligence.  You  admit  that  the  logic  is  flaw- 
less, yet  that  fact  does  not  reassure  you,  as  it  would 
if  you  were  in  a  normal  condition." 

"  But  — " 

"  Wait,  please,  till  I  have  done.  I  know  what 
you  wish  to  say.  It  is  that  your  sense  of  protest 
is  not  merely  sentimental,  but  rather  moral ;  is  it  not 
so?" 

Monsignor  nodded.  It  was  precisely  what  he  had 
wished  to  say. 

"  That  is  not  true,  however.  It  is  true  that  your 
moral  sense  seems  outraged,  but  the  reason  is  that 
you  have  not  yet  all  the  data  (the  moral  sense  is 
a  department  of  the  reason,  remember).  You 
admit  the  logic  of  society's  defending  itself;  but  it 
seems  to  you  that  that  which  is,  as  you  very  prop- 
erly said,  the  divine  characteristic  of  Christianity 
—  I  mean,  readiness  to  suffer  rather  than  to  in- 
flict suffering  —  is  absent  from  the  world ;  that  the 
cross,  as  you  said  again,  has  been  dropped  by  the 
Church. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  273 

"  Now,  if  you  will  reflect  a  moment,  you  will  see 
that  it  is  very  natural  that  that  should  appear  so, 
in  a  world  that  is  Christian.  It  is  very  natural 
that  there  should  not  be  persecution  of  Christians, 
for  example,  since  there  is  no  one  to  persecute  them, 
and  therefore  that  you  should  see  only  the  rights 
of  the  Church  to  rule  and  not  its  divine  prerogative 
of  pain.  But  I  suppose  that  if  you  saw  the  oppo- 
site, if  you  were  to  watch  the  other  process,  and 
see  that  the  Church  is  still  able  to  suffer,  and  to  ac- 
cept suffering,  in  a  manner  in  which  the  world  is 
never  capable  of  suffering,  I  imagine  you  would  be 
reassured." 

Monsignor  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  thought  so.  .  .  .  Well,  does  not  the  Con- 
templative Life  reassure  you?  And  are  you  aware 
that  in  Ireland  alone  there  are  four  millions  of  per- 
sons wholly  devoted  to  the  Contemplative  Life? 
And  that,  so  great  is  the  rush  of  vocations,  the  con- 
tinent of  Europe — " 

"  No,"  cried  the  priest  harshly.  "  Voluntary  suf- 
fering is  not  the  same  thing.  .  .  .  I  .  .  . 
I  long  to  see  Christians  suffering  at  the  hands  of 
the  world." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  doubtful  as  to  how  they 
would  bear  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


274  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

The  monk  smiled,  slowly  and  brilliantly,  and 
there  was  a  look  of  such  serene  confidence  in  his 
face  that  the  other  was  amazed. 

"Well  .  .  /'  he  paused  again.  "Well,  I 
take  it  that  we  have  laid  our  finger  upon  what  it  is 
that  troubles  you.  You  admit  that  the  Church  is 
right  to  be  active  — " 

"  No  —  I  — " 

"  By  your  reason,  I  mean,  Monsignor." 

"  Yes,"  said  Monsignor  slowly.  "  By  my  rea- 
son/' 

"  But  that  you  are  not  satisfied  that  the  Church 
can  still  suffer ;  that  it  seems  to  you  she  has  lost  that 
which  is  of  her  very  essence.  If  you  saw  that,  you 
would  be  content." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  other  hesitatingly. 

The  monk  rose  abruptly. 

"  We  have  talked  enough  for  to-day,"  he  said. 
"  You  will  kindly  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  as  yes- 
terday. Do  not  say  Mass  in  the  morning.  I  will 
be  with  you  at  the  same  time." 

(VII) 

It  was  on  the  last  morning  of  their  stay  at  Thurles 
that  Monsignor  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  some- 
thing of  the  real  character  of  the  place. 

The  lay  monk  came  to  him  again,  as  he  was  finish- 
ing breakfast,  and  abruptly  suggested  it. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  275 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy,"  said  Monsignor. 

Certainly  his  stay  had  done  him  good  in  some 
indefinable  manner  he  could  not  altogether  under- 
stand. Each  morning  he  had  talked ;  but  there  was 
no  particular  argument  which  he  could  recall  that 
had  convinced  him.  Indeed,  the  monk  had  told 
him  more  than  once  that  bare  intellectual  arguments 
could  do  nothing  except  clear  the  ground  of  actual 
fallacies.  Certainly  the  points  had  been  put  to  him 
clearly  and  logically.  He  perceived  now  that,  so 
far  as  reason  was  concerned,  Christian  society  could 
not  do  otherwise  than  silence  those  who  attacked 
the  very  foundations  of  its  existence ;  and  he  also 
understood  that  this  was  completely  another  matter 
from  the  charge  that  men  had  been  accustomed  to 
bring  against  the  Church,  that  she  "  would  perse- 
cute if  she  had  the  power."  For  it  was  not  the 
Church  in  any  sense  that  used  repression;  it  was 
the  State  that  did  so;  and  as  Dom  Adrian  had 
pointed  out,  this  was  of  the  very  essence  of  all  civil 
government.  But  this  was  not  new  to  him.  Rather 
his  stay  in  Thurles  had,  by  quieting  his  nervous 
system,  made  it  possible  for  him  to  elect  to  follow 
his  reason  rather  than  his  feelings.  His  feelings 
were  as  before.  Still  in  the  bottom  of  his  con- 
sciousness he  felt  that  the  Christ  which  he  had 
known  w^as  other  than  the  Christ  who  now  reigned 
on  earth.     But  now  he  had  been  enabled  to  make  the 


2;6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

decision  over  which  he  had  previously  hesitated ;  he 
had  sufficiently  recovered  at  least  so  far  as  to  go 
back  to  his  work  and  to  do  what  seemed  to  be  the 
duty  to  which  his  reason  pointed,  and  in  action  at 
least  to  ignore  his  feelings.  This  much  had 
been  done.  He  did  not  yet  understand  by  what 
means. 

A  car  waited  in  the  little  court  to  w^hich  the  two 
came  down.  The  monk  beckoned  him  to  enter,  and 
they  moved  off. 

"  This  quarter  of  the  monastery,"  began  the  monk 
abruptly,  ''  is  entirely  of  the  nature  you  have  seen. 
It  is  composed  of  flats  and  apartments  throughout, 
for  the  simple  retreats  such  as  your  own.  Each 
father  who  is  employed  in  this  kind  of  work  has  his 
round  of  visits  to  make  each  day." 

'*  How  many  monks  are  there  altogether,  father, 
in  Thurles?  " 

"  About  nine  thousand." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  About  nine  thousand.  Of  these  about  six  thou- 
sand live  a  purely  Contemplative  life.  No  monk 
tmdertakes  any  work  of  this  kind  until  he  has  been 
professed  at  least  fifteen  years.  But  the  regula- 
tions are  too  intricate  to  explain  just  now." 

*'  Where  are  we  going  first  — " 

"  Stay,  Monsignor  "  (the  monk  interrupted  him 
by  a  hand  on  his  arm).     "  We  are  just  entering  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  2^j 

northern  quarter.  It  is  the  serious  cases  that  are 
dealt  with  here." 

"Serious?" 

"Yes;  where  there  is  a  complete  breakdown  of 
mental  powers.  That  building  there  is  the  first  of 
the  block  of  the  gravest  cases  of  all  —  real  mania." 

Monsignor  leaned  forward  to  look. 

They  were  passing  noiselessly  along  the  side  of  a 
great  square;  but  there  was  nothing  to  distinguish 
the  building  indicated  from  the  rest.  It  just  stood 
there,  a  tall  pile  of  white  stone;  and  the  top  of  a 
campanile  rose  above  it. 

"  You  have  worked  there,  father?  " 

"  I  worked  there  for  two  years,"  said  the  monk 
tranquilly.  "  It  is  distressing  work  at  first.  Would 
you  care  to  look  in?  " 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 

"  Yes,  it  is  distressing  work,  but  there  are  great 
consolations.  Two  out  of  every  three  cases  at  least 
are  cured,  and  we  have  a  certain  number  of  voca- 
tions from  the  patients." 

"  Vocations !  " 

"  Certainly.  Mania  in  the  majority  of  cases  is 
nothing  else  than  possession.  In  fact  some  authori- 
ties are  inclined  to  say  that  it  is  exceptional  to  find 
it  otherwise.  And  in  the  other  cases  it  is  gener- 
ally the  force  of  an  exceptionally  strong  will  that 
has  lost  its  balance,  and  is  powerful  enough  to  dis- 


278  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

regard  all  ordinary  checks  of  reason  and  common 
sense  and  human  emotion.  Well,  a  character  like 
that  is  capable  of  a  good  deal.  Each  case  is,  of 
course,  completely  isolated  in  this  department  as  in 
all  others.  It  is  incredible  to  think  that  less  than  a 
hundred  years  ago  such  patients  were  herded  to- 
gether. The  system  now,  of  course,  is  to  surround 
them  with  completely  healthy  conditions  and  com- 
pletely self-restrained  attendants.  That  gradually 
rebuilds  the  physical  and  nervous  conditions,  and 
exorcism  is  not  administered  until  there  is  sufficient 
reserve  force  for  the  patient  partly,  at  any  rate,  to 
cooperate." 

Monsignor  was  silent.  Again  he  felt  bewilder- 
ment at  the  amazing  simplicity  and  common  sense 
of  it  all. 

*'  I  am  taking  you,"  said  the  monk  presently,  "  to 
the  central  quarter  —  to  the  monastery  proper.  It 
is  there  that  the  main  body  of  the  monks  live.  The 
church  is  remarkable.  It  is  the  third  largest 
monastic  church  in  the  world.  .  .  .  We  are 
just  entering  the  quarter  now,"  he  added. 

Monsignor  leaned  forward  as  the  air  darkened, 
and  was  in  time  to  see  great  gates  swinging  slowly 
together  again  as  if  to  meet  after  the  car  had 
passed.  It  was  still  twilight  as  they  sped  on,  and 
he  perceived  that  they  were  passing  with  that  ex- 
treme and  noiseless  swiftness  with  which  they  had 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  279 

come  up  some  kind  of  tunnel  lit  by  artificial  light. 
Then  again  there  was  a  rush  of  daylight  and  the  car 
stopped. 

"  We  must  go  on  foot  here,"  said  the  monk,  and 
opened  the  door. 

The  priest,  still  marveling,  stepped  out  after  him, 
and  followed  through  a  postern  door;  and  then,  as 
he  emerged,  understood  more  or  less  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  buildings. 

He  stood  on  the  edge  of  an  enormous  courtyard, 
perhaps  five  hundred  yards  across.  This  was  laid 
down  with  a  lawn,  crossed  in  every  direction  with 
paved  paths.  But  that  at  which  he  chiefly  stafed 
was  at  a  church  whose  like  he  had  never  set  eyes 
on  before.  It  was  the  sanctuary  end,  obviously, 
that  faced  him;  the  farther  end  ran  back  into  the 
high  walls,  pierced  here  and  there  by  low  doors, 
with  which  the  court  was  surrounded.  The  church 
itself  rose  perhaps  two  hundred  feet  from  floor  to 
roof.  It  was  straight  from  end  to  end,  the  line 
broken  only  by  a  tall,  severe  tower  at  the  point  where 
it  joined  the  wall  of  the  court;  and  running  round 
it,  jutting  out  in  a  continuous  block,  like  a  plat- 
form, was  a  low  building,  plainly  containing  chapels. 
The  whole  was  of  white  stone,  unrelieved  by  carving 
of  any  kind.  Enormous  narrow  lancet  windows 
showed  above  the  line  of  chapels,  springing  perhaps 
forty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  rising  to  a  line 


28o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

immediately  below  the  roof.  The  whole  gave  an 
impression  of  astounding  severity  and  equally  as- 
tounding beauty.  It  had  the  kind  of  beauty  of  a 
perfectly  bare  mountain  or  of  an  iceberg.  It  was 
graceful,  and  yet  as  strong  as  iron;  it  was  cold,  and 
yet  obviously  alive. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  monk,  as  they  went  aross  the 
court,  "  it  is  impressive,  is  it  not  ?  It  is  the  monas- 
tic church  proper.  It  can  hold,  if  necessary,  ten 
thousand  monks.  But  you  will  see  when  we  look 
in. 

"  The  court  we  are  now  in  is  surrounded  by  clois- 
ters. There  are  just  nine  thousand  cells;  there  are, 
perhaps,  fifty  unoccupied  now.  Each  cell,  as  you 
know,  is  a  little  house  in  itself,  with  three  or  four 
rooms  and  a  garden ;  so  we  need  space.  The  ceme- 
teries are  beyond  the  cloisters.  We  bury,  as  you 
know,  in  the  bare  earth  without  a  coffin." 

It  was  like  the  creation  of  a  dream,  thought 
the  priest,  as  he  walked  with  his  guide,  listening 
to  the  quiet  talk.  He  had  seen  some  of  these  facts 
in  the  book  that  Father  Jervis  had  lent  him;  but 
they  had  meant  little  to  him.  Now  he  began  to 
understand,  and  once  more  a  kind  of  inexplicable 
terror  began  to  affect  him. 

But  as,  five  minutes  later,  he  stood  in  the  high 
western  gallery  of  the  church,  and  saw  that  enor- 
mous place  stretching  beyond  calculation  to  where 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  281 

thin,  clear,  glass,  sanctuary  windows  rose  in  a  group, 
like  snow-blades,  above  the  white  pavement  before 
the  altar;  as  he  saw  the  ranks  of  stalls  running 
up,  tier  above  tier,  and  understood  that,  all  told, 
they  numbered  ten  thousand,  one-third  of  them  on 
this  side  of  the  screen,  in  the  lay  brothers'  choir, 
and  two-thirds  beyond ;  as  he  imagined  what  it  must 
be  to  watch  this  congregation  of  elect  souls  stream 
in,  each  with  his  lantern  in  his  hand,  through  the 
countless  doors  that  ended  each  little  narrow  gang- 
way that  disappeared  among  the  stalls;  as  he  pic- 
tured the  thunder  of  the  unemotional  Carthusian 
plain-song  —  as  he  saw  all  this  with  his  bodily  eyes, 
standing  silent  beside  the  silent  monk,  and  began 
little  by  little  to  take  in  what  it  all  meant,  and  what 
this  world  must  be  in  which  such  a  condition  of 
things  was  accepted  —  a  world  where  Contempla- 
tives  at  last  were  honored  as  the  kings  of  the  earth, 
and  themselves  controlled  and  soothed  the  lives  of 
whom  the  world  despaired;  as  his  imagination  ran 
out  still  farther,  and  he  remembered  that  this  was 
but  one  of  innumerable  houses  of  the  kind  —  as  he 
began  to  be  aware  of  all  this,  and  of  what  it  sig- 
nified as  regards  the  civilization  in  which  he  found 
himself  —  his  terror  began  to  pass,  and  to  give  place 
to  an  awe,  and  to  a  kind  of  exaltation,  such  as 
neither  Rome  nor  Lourdes  nor  London  had  been 
able  even  to  suggest.     .     .     . 


282  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

(viii) 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Father  Jervis  smiling  as  the  two 
met  on  the  platform  that  evening,  to  wait  for  the 
English-bound  air-ship. 

Monsignor  looked  at  him. 

"  I  am  glad  I  came,"  he  said.  "  No ;  it  is  not  all 
well  with  me,  even  yet.     But  I  will  try  again." 

The  other  nodded,  still  smiling. 

"Who  was  the  father  who  looked  after  me?" 
added  the  prelate.  "  He  said  he  had  talked  with 
you." 

"  He  is  considered  one  of  the  best  they  have," 
said  the  other.  "  I  asked  for  him  specially.  He 
hardly  ever  fails.     You  are  impressed  by  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  but  he  did  nothing  particu- 
lar." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  smiled  the  old  priest.  He  added 
after  a  pause,  as  the  bell  rang  — 

"You  feel  ready  for  work  again?  You  know 
what  lies  before  you?  " 

Monsignor  nodded  slowly. 

''  You  mean  the  Establishment  of  the  Church  ? 
.     .     .     Yes;  I  am  ready." 


CHAPTER  V 

'nr^HE  scheme  had  been  in  the  air  for  nearly  two 
•^  years,  as  Monsignor  learned  from  his  papers ; 
and  for  the  last  month  or  two  had  come  more  to  the 
front  than  ever.  But  he  had  not  realized  how  close 
it  was. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  October  that  the  Cardinal 
sent  for  him  and  revealed  two  more  facts.  The 
first  was  that  it  was  the  intention  of  His  Majesty's 
Government  to  appoint  a  Commission  to  consider 
once  more  the  Establishment  of  Catholicism  as  the 
State  religion  of  England;  and  the  second  was  that 
secret  negotiations  had  been  proceeding  now  for 
the  last  eight  months  between  China,  Japan,  the 
Persian  Empire,  and  Russia,  as  to  the  formal  rec- 
ognition of  the  Pope  as  Arbitrator  of  the  East. 

"  Both  points,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  are  abso- 
lutely sub  sigillo  until  you  hear  of  them  from  other 
sources.  And  I  need  not  tell  you,  Monsignor,  that 
they  have  the  very  strongest  mutual  effects." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?  " 
283 

19 


284  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Think  it  over,"  said  the  Cardinal,  and  waved 
him  pleasantly  away. 

From  that  time  forward,  as  week  followed  week, 
the  work  became  enormous.  He  was  present  at  in- 
terviews of  which  he  understood  not  more  than  one- 
half  of  the  allusions;  yet  with  that  extraordinary 
skill  of  which  he  was  made  aware  by  the  compli- 
ments of  the  Cardinal  and  of  his  own  friends,  he 
showed  never  a  sign  of  his  ignorance.  Papers  con- 
stantly passed  under  his  hands,  disclosing  to  him 
the  elaborate  preparations  that  had  already  been 
made  on  the  part  of  the  State  authorities ;  and  ques- 
tions on  various  points  of  discipline  were  contin- 
ually submitted  to  him,  at  the  bearing  of  which  he 
could  only  guess. 

It  seemed  to  him  remarkable  that  so  much  fuss 
should  be  made  upon  w^hat  was  by  now  almost  en- 
tirely a  matter  of  form,  since  by  the  restoration  of 
Catholic  property,  recognition  of  Church  courts, 
and  a  hundred  other  details,  as  well  as  by  the  af- 
fection of  the  people,  the  Church  already  enjoyed 
supreme  power. 

He  put  this  once,  lightly,  to  Father  Jervis. 

"  The  public  is  affected  by  forms  much  more  than 
by  principles,"  said  that  priest,  smiling.  "  They 
have  already  accepted  the  principles;  but  even  at 
the  eleventh  hour  they  might  take  fright  at  the 
forms." 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  285 

"  Do  you  mean  it  is  possible  that  a  Bill,  if  it  was 
brought  forward,  might  not  pass?  " 

"  Certainly  it's  possible.  Otherwise,  why  haven't 
we  had  a  Commission  appointed?  The  Socialists 
aren't  beaten  yet.  But  it's  not  likely;  or  the  Bill 
wouldn't  be  brought  forward  at  all." 

The  prelate  said  nothing. 

It  was  not  until  a  few  days  before  Christmas  that 
the  Cardinal  was  sent  for. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  month  the  Commission 
had  been  appointed  by  an  overwhelming  majority 
in  the  House.  The  proposal  had  been  brought  for- 
ward suddenly  by  the  Government,  and  with  a  speed 
and  an  employment  of  business-like  methods  that 
seemed  very  strange  to  the  man  who  had  lost  his 
memory,  and  who  still  had  hanging  about  him  a 
curious  atmosphere  of  earlier  days,  the  Commission 
had  despatched  an  immense  amount  of  work  within 
three  weeks. 

It  was  impossible  to  know  how  far  negotiations 
had  got;  but  even  the  Cardinal  himself  was  taken 
by  surprise  when  he  received  an  Invitation  to  attend 
the  sitting  of  the  Commission.  He  sent  for  Mon- 
slgnor  Masterman  at  once. 

"  You  will  attend  me,  Monslgnor,  please.  I  shall 
have  to  appear  alone,  but  I  should  like  you  to  be  at 
hand." 

It  was  with  very  much  confused  emotions  that 


286  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

Monsignor  found  himself,  a  day  or  two  later,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  a  corridor  in  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. He  had  arrived  with  the  Cardinal,  had 
gone  up  the  broad  staircase  behind  him,  and  had 
followed  him  even  into  the  committee  room.  A 
long  table  faced  him  as  he  entered,  and  he  noticed 
with  an  odd  little  thrill  how  every  man  sitting  there, 
from  the  white-faced,  white-haired  man  at  the  head, 
down  to  the  clean-shaven,  clever-looking  young  man 
nearest  the  door,  had  risen  as  the  two  ecclesiastics 
came  in.  The  table,  he  noticed,  was  strewed  with 
papers.  An  empty  chair  stood  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  table  —  a  red  chair,  he  saw,  with  gilded  wood. 

The  Cardinal  sat  down.  The  rest  sat  down,  all 
in  silence.  Monsignor  placed  the  despatch-box  in 
front  of  his  chief,  opened  it,  laid  a  few  books  in 
order,  and  went  out.     .     .     . 

Even  now,  in  spite  of  all  the  knowledge  that  he 
had,  and  the  constant  contemplation  of  the  cold  facts 
of  the  case,  it  seemed  to  him,  as  on  a  dozen  occa- 
sions before  since  his  lapse  of  memory,  as  if  life 
was  not  as  real  as  it  seemed.  Somewhere,  down 
in  the  very  fiber  of  him,  was  an  assumption  that 
England  and  Catholicism  were  irreconcilable  things 
—  that  the  domination  of  the  one  meant  the  sup- 
pression of  the  other.  Certainly  history  was  against 
him.  For  more  than  a  thousand  years  Church  and 
State  in  England  had  been  partners.     It  was  but 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  287 

for  three  hundred  years  —  and  those  years  of  con- 
fusion and  of  the  gradual  elimination  of  the  super- 
natural —  that  the  two  had  been  at  cross-purposes. 
Was  it  not  historically  certain,  therefore,  that,  should 
the  supernatural  ever  be  reaccepted  in  all  its  force, 
a  partnership  should  again  spring  up  between  a 
State  that  needed  a  Divine  authority  behind  its  own 
and  the  sole  Institution  which  was  not  afraid  to 
stand  out  for  the  supernatural  with  all  its  conse- 
quences? Theology  was  against  him;  for  if  there 
was  anything  that  theology  thought  explicitly,  it 
was  that  the  soul  was  naturally  Christian,  and  there- 
fore imperfect  without  the  full  Christian  Revela- 
tion. 

And  yet,  as  he  walked,  he  was  annoyed.  The 
proposed  Establishment  of  the  Church  by  the  State 
appeared  to  him  uncharacteristic  of  both  —  of  the 
Church,  since  he  still  tended  to  think  that  she  must 
in  her  essence  be  at  war  with  the  world;  of  the 
State,  since  he  still  tended  to  think  that  that,  too,  in 
its  essence,  must  be  at  war  with  religion.  In  spite 
of  what  he  had  seen,  he  had  not  yet  grasped  with 
his  imagination  that  which  both  experience  and 
intellect  justified  as  true  —  namely,  that  it  is  the 
function  of  the  Church  to  guide  the  world,  and  the 
highest  wisdom  of  the  world  to  organize  itself  on  a 
supernatural  basis. 

He  walked  up  and  down,  saying  nothing.    At  one 


288  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

end  of  the  long  corridor  a  couple  of  secretaries 
whispered  together  on  a  settee ;  at  the  other  he  saw 
passing  and  repassing  hurrying  figures  that  went 
about  their  business.  Doors  opened  occasionally, 
and  a  man  came  out;  once  or  twice  he  saluted  an 
acquaintance.  But  all  the  while  his  attention  re- 
mained fixed  upon  the  door  numbered  XI,  behind 
which  this  quietly  significant  affair  proceeded.  The 
whole  place  seemed  a  very  temple  of  stillness.  The 
thick  carpet  underfoot,  the  noiseless  doors,  the  ad- 
mirable system  of  the  place  —  all  contributed  to 
make  a  great  solemnity. 

He  tried  to  remind  himself  that  he  was  present 
at  the  making  of  history,  but  it  was  useless.  Again 
and  again  as,  with  an  effort,  he  forced  the  principles 
before  his  mind,  his  attention  whirled  off  to  a  detail 
■ — to  a  contemplation  of  his  chief  taking  his  seat 
in  the  House  of  Lords  and  to  the  fabric  of  the  car- 
pet on  which  he  walked;  to  the  silent  whisper  of 
one  of  the  two  conversational  secretaries ;  to  a  won- 
der as  to  the  form  of  prayer  with  which  the  first 
professedly  Catholic  Parliament  in  England  for 
more  than  four  hundred  years  would  open. 

Then  he  checked  himself,  reminded  himself  of 
certain  old  proverbs  about  cups  and  hares,  reflected 
that  Socialism  was  not  beaten  yet  (in  Father  Jer- 
vis's  phrase),  as  recent  events  in  Germany  had 
shown.     ... 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  289 

Once  as  he  turned  at  the  end  of  the  corridor 
furthest  from  the  secretaries,  an  interesting  little 
incident  happened.  A  door  opened  abruptly,  and  a 
man  coming  out  quickly  almost  ran  against  him. 
Then  the  man  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled. 

''  I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsignor  ...  I 
.     .     .     I  can  guess  your  business  here." 

Monsignor  smiled,  too,  a  little  guiltily.  He  recog- 
nized the  Socialist  leader  who  had  called  on  him  a 
few  months  before. 

"Yes:   and  I'm  afraid  you  don't  approve,"   he 

said. 

Mr.  Hardy  made  a  little  deprecatory  gesture,  still 
holding  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh !  I'm  a  believer  in  majorities,"  he  said. 
"And  there's  no  doubt  you  have  the  majority. 
But—" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  merciful.  That  is  your  Gos- 
pel, you  know." 

"  You  think  we  have  the  majority?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly.  The  enfranchisement  of  women 
settled  all  that.  They  are  always  clerical,  you 
know." 

Monsignor  felt  the  point  prick  him.     He  riposted 

gently. 

"Well,  you  will  have  to  take  refuge  in  Ger- 
many," he  said. 


290  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

The  face  of  the  other  changed  a  httle;  his  eyelids 
came  down  just  a  fraction. 

"  That's  exactly  what  I'm  going  to  do,  Monsignor 
—  I  —  but  I  think  there's  somebody  wanting  you." 

Monsignor  turned.  There  was  a  hand  beckoning 
him  from  behind  a  face,  as  if  in  agitation,  from  the 
entrance  to  door  No.  XL 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me,"  he  said,  and  hurried  off. 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  to  be  present  at  the  end, 
Monsignor,"  whispered  the  member  who  had  beck- 
oned him.     "  The  Cardinal  is  just  speaking." 

Committee  room  number  XI  seemed  strangely 
quiet,  as  the  prelate  slipped  in  behind  his  friend  and 
stood  motionless.  One  voice  was  speaking;  and, 
as  he  tried  to  catch  the  sense,  he  looked  round  the 
faces,  that  were  all  turned  in  his  direction.  He  saw 
Mr.  Manners  on  the  extreme  left. 

Every  man  sat  without  moving,  simply  listening, 
it  seemed,  with  an  extraordinary  attention;  some 
leaning  forward,  some  back,  with  the  papers  disre- 
garded on  the  table.  A  couple  of  recording  ma- 
chines stood  now  in  the  center.  Then  he  began  to 
catch  the  words.     .     .     . 

"  I  think,  gentleman,"  said  the  voice  from  behind 
the  high-backed  chair,  "  that  I  need  say  no  more. 
We  have  discussed  at  length,  and  I  hope  to  your  sat- 
isfaction, the  particular  points  on  which  you  de- 
sired information:  and  my  answers  have  brought 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  291 

out,  I  think,  the  essence  of  all  the  conditions  on 
which  alone  the  Church  can  accept  the  terms  pro- 
posed. 

"  I  wish  it  to  be  brought  before  the  House,  per- 
fectly clearly,  that  in  her  own  province  the  Church 
must  be  supreme.  She  must  have  an  entire  and 
undisputed  right  over  her  own  doctrine  and  dis- 
cipline; for  that  is  at  the  root  of  her  only  claim  to 
be  heard.  In  respect  to  any  legislation  which,  in 
her  opinion,  touches  the  eternal  principles  of  mo- 
rality —  in  all  such  things,  for  example,  as  the  mar- 
riage law  —  her  supreme  authority  must  be  re- 
spected; as  well  as  in  all  those  other  matters  of 
the  same  nature  upon  which  you  have  questioned 
me. 

"  But  on  the  other  side  the  Church  recognizes, 
and  always  will  recognize,  the  right  of  a  free  peo- 
ple to  govern  themselves;  and,  not  only  recognizes 
that  right,  but  will  support  it  with  all  the  power  at 
her  command.  I  have  acknowledged  that  in  a  few 
instances  in  history  ecclesiastics  have  interfered  un- 
duly with  what  did  not  concern  them  —  interfered, 
that  is,  not  as  citizens  (for  that  is  their  right,  in 
common  with  all  other  citizens)  — but  in  the  Name 
of  Religion.  Now  that,  gentlemen,  is  simply  a  thing 
of  the  past.  If  secular  rulers  have  learned  by  ex- 
perience, so  have  ecclesiastical  rulers.  ...  I 
have  invited  investigation  into  the  history  of  the 


292  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

last  hundred  years ;  and  I  have  answered  those  few 
charges  that  have  been  brought  —  I  hope  to  your 
satisfaction."     (There  was  a  murmur  of  applause.) 

*'  In  secular  matters,  therefore,  the  Church  will 
be  wholly  on  the  side  of  liberty.  Ecclesiastical  au- 
thorities, for  example,  would  be  the  first  to  wel- 
come a  repeal  of  legislation  as  regards  heresy;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  fully  recognize  the  right  of 
a  secular  State  to  protect  itself,  even  by  the  death 
penalty,  against  those  who  threaten  the  existence 
of  the  sanctions  at  which  a  secular  State  takes  its 
stand.  We  recognize  her  right,  I  say ;  but  I  do  not 
mean  by  that  that  you  will  not  find  ecclesiastics  who 
hold  that  it  is,  to  put  it  mildly,  a  deplorable  policy. 

"  However,  I  have  said  all  this  before,  both  in 
public,  and  now  again  in  answer  to  your  questions ; 
and  I  think  that,  at  any  rate,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  shall  not  be  to  blame  if  the  nation  accepts 
the  proposed  change  under  a  misapprehension. 

"  You  see,  gentlemen,  the  attempt  that  ended  fifty 
years  ago  —  the  attempt  that  was  called  in  its  day 
Protestantism  —  to  establish  a  religion  which  was 
to  be  secondary  in  any  sense  to  the  State,  failed  and 
failed  lamentably,  in  spite  of  the  noble  lives  that 
were  spent  in  laboring  for  such  a  compromise.  For 
it  is  the  whole  essence  of  a  Supernatural  Religion 
to  be  supreme  in  its  own  province  —  the  very  ad- 
jective asserts  it;  and  any  endeavor  to  compromise 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  293 

on  this  entirely  vital  point  is  in  itself  a  denial  of  the 
principle.  For  a  while  this  was  not  perceived. 
Men  regarded  the  Christian  Church  —  or  rather, 
that  which  they  took  to  be  the  Christian  Church  — 
merely,  on  its  earthly  side,  as  an  organization  com- 
parable to  a  State.  They  did  not  seem  to  see  that 
Religion  must  always  have  a  wider  basis  than  any 
secular  body,  since  it  deals  with  eternity  as  well  as 
with  time,  while  the  State,  professedly,  treats  only 
of  temporal  things.  The  consequence  was  either 
conflict,  whenever  supernatural  elements  clashed 
with  natural,  or  else  the  subservience  of  Religion, 
and  its  consequent  loss  of  prestige,  as  well  as  of  its 
supernatural  character.  A  National  Church,  there- 
fore, is  a  contradiction  in  terms,  since  it  asserts  that 
that  which  is  in  its  very  nature  larger  than  this 
world  must  yet  be  confined  within  the  limits  not 
only  of  this  world,  but  even  of  a  part  of  it.  .  .  . 
Well,  I  need  not  labor  that  point.  You  grasped  it, 
gentlemen,  even  before  you  were  good  enough  to 
ask  me  to  give  evidence  before  this  Commission. 
I  felt  it,  however,  only  right  that  such  conditions 
should  be  reiterated  and  recorded  before  matters 
went  any  further. 

"  The  Church,  therefore,  is  perfectly  content  to 
remain  as  she  has  always  remained  in  this  country 
for  the  last  four  centuries  —  a  free  society  govern- 
ing the  consciences  of  her  children.     Or  she  is  con- 


294  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

tent  to  take  outwardly  and  officially  that  position 
which  she  has  always,  at  least  tacitly,  claimed,  and 
to  reassume  her  civil  dignity  and  her  civil  responsi- 
bilities. But  she  is  not  content  to  waive  any  of 
those  Divine  Rights  with  which  her  Founder  en- 
dowed her,  even  in  return  for  the  greatest  privi- 
leges ;  still  less  is  she  content  to  receive  those  privi- 
leges under  false  pretenses.     .     .     ." 

Again  the  low  murmur  of  applause  broke  out, 
and  three  or  four  men  shifted  their  positions 
slightly. 

Monsignor  was  conscious  again,  suddenly  and 
vividly,  of  that  double  sense  of  unreality  and  of  in- 
tense drama  which  he  had  felt  so  often  before  at 
critical  moments..  It  seemed  to  him  amazing,  and 
yet  more  amazingly  simple,  that  such  claims  should 
be  put  in  such  words  under  such  circumstances.  It 
was  astounding  that  such  things  should  be  said,  and 
yet  more  astounding  that  they  needed  to  be  said,  for 
were  they  not,  after  all,  the  very  elements  of  civil 
and  religious  relations?     .     .     . 

There  was  something,  too,  in  the  voice  of  the  in- 
visible speaker  that  thrilled  his  very  heart.  The 
tones  were  completely  tranquil,  there  were  no  ges- 
tures, and  the  very  force  that  spoke  was  unseen. 
Yet  in  the  quiet  fluency,  the  note  of  absolute  assur- 
ance, there  was  a  dominating  appeal  that  was  al- 
most hypnotic  in  its  effect.     He  had  perceived  this 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  295 

characteristic  of  the  Cardinal  often  before;  he  had 
noticed  it  first  on  that  occasion  on  which,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  knowledge,  he  had  come  into  his 
presence,  still  staggered  by  the  shock  of  his  mental 
failure  and  recovery.  But  he  had  never  appreci- 
ated the  strength  of  the  personality  so  clearly.  The 
Cardinal  was  no  orator  in  the  ordinary  sense ;  there 
was  no  thunder  or  pathos  or  drama  in  his  manner. 
But  his  complete  assurance  and  the  long,  gentle,  in- 
cisive sentences,  moving  like  rollers  in  a  calm  sea, 
were  more  affecting  than  any  passion  could  be. 
.  It  seemed  to  him  now  the  very  incarnation 
of  that  spirit  of  the  Church  that  at  once  attracted 
and  repelled  him  —  of  its  serenity,  its  gentleness, 
its  reasonableness,  and  its  irresistible  force. 

Then,  in  a  slightly  higher  note,  and  with  a  per- 
ceptible increase  of  deliberation,  the  voice  went  on. 

"  I  must  add  one  word,  gentlemen. 

"  I  said  just  now  that  the  Church  was  content  to 
be  as  she  has  recently  been  in  this  country  —  con- 
tent, that  is,  so  long  as  she  continues  to  enjoy  the 
liberty  with  which  England  endows  her. 

"  And  perhaps,  as  her  chief  minister  in  this  coun- 
try, I  ought  to  say  no  more.  But,  gentlemen,  I  am 
an  Englishman  as  well  as  a  Catholic,  and  I  love 
England  only  less  than  I  love  the  Church.  I  say 
frankly  that  I  do  love  her  less.  No  man  who  has 
any  emotion  that  can  be  called  religious  can  say 


296  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

otherwise.  I  tell  you  plainly  that  should  it  come  to 
be  a  choice  between  Csesar  and  God  —  between  the 
King  and  the  Pope  —  I  should  throw  myself  at  once 
on  the  side  of  Christ  and  his  Vicar.     .     .     ." 

(Monsignor  drew  a  breath.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  this  w^as  appallingly  plain  speaking.  He  ex- 
pected a  murmur  of  remonstrance.  He  glanced  at 
the  faces,  but  there  was  no  movement  or  change,  ex- 
cept that  a  young  member  suddenly  smiled,  as  with 
pleasure.) 

"  But  I  love  England,"  went  on  the  voice,  "  pas- 
sionately and  devotedly.  And  in  spite  of  what  I 
said  just  now  I  must  add  that,  as  an  Englishman, 
there  is  but  one  more  thing  that  I  desire  for  my 
country,  and  that  is  that  she  may  carry  out  that 
project  on  whose  account  you,  gentlemen,  have  met 
to-day." 

(Again  a  murmur  of  applause  rose,  and  sank 
again  instantly.) 

"  You  have  kindly  asked  me  to  make  this  little 
speech,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  turn  it  into  a  sermon, 
but  I  must  conclude  by  saying  that,  splendid  as  is 
the  history  of  England  in  many  points,  there  is  one 
black  blot  upon  the  page,  and  that,  the  act  of  hers 
by  which  she  renounced  Christ's  Vicar,  by  whom 
kings  reign.  You  have  done  justice  at  last  in  re- 
turning to  us  those  possessions  which  our  fore- 
fathers   dedicated    to    God's    service.     But    there 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  297 

remains  one  more  thing  to  do,  formally  and  deliber- 
ately as  one  kingdom,  to  return  to  Him  who  is 
King  of  kings.  I  know  it  will  come  some  day.  As 
individuals,  Englishmen  have  already  returned  to 
Him.  But  a  corporate  crime  must  be  expiated  by 
corporate  reparation,  and  it  is  that  reparation  which 
has  already  waited  too  long.  I  am  an  old  man,  gen- 
tlemen. That,  no  doubt,  is  why  I  have  been  so  ver- 
bose, but  my  one  prayer  for  the  last  thirty  years  has 
been  that  the  corporate  reparation  may  be  made 
within  my  own  lifetime.     .     .     ." 

The  voice  suddenly  trembled. 

Then  the  watcher  saw  the  chair  pushed  back,  and 
the  little  scarlet  cap  covering  the  white  hair  rise 
above  it.    Simultaneously  every  man  rose  to  his  feet. 

''  That  is  all,  gentlemen." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

Then  the  applause  broke  out.  It  was  not  loud 
or  noisy,  as  there  were  scarcely  two  dozen  men  in 
the  room,  yet  it  was  astonishingly  affecting,  just 
the  tapping  of  hands  on  the  table  and  a  murmur  of 
voices. 

The  Cardinal  silenced  it  by  a  gesture. 

"  One  word,  gentlemen.  ...  I  have  said 
nothing  of  any  opposition.  Perhaps  it  would  have 
been  better  if  I  had.  But  I  will  only  say  this,  and 
it  is  something  of  a  warning,  too.  I  do  not  believe 
that  this  Bill  that  is  spoken  of  will  necessarily  mean 


298  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

peace.  I  am  aware  of  the  dangers  that  are  threat- 
ening; perhaps  I  am  even  more  aware  of  them  than 
any  other  person  present.  And  yet,  for  all  that,  I 
am  not  in  favor  of  delay." 

He  turned  suddenly,  and  with  his  long  smooth 
step  was  at  the  door  almost  before  Monsignor  had 
time  to  open  it  and  step  aside.  There  was  no  time 
for  any  other  man  to  speak. 

The  car  had  hardly  moved  off  from  the  door  be- 
fore Monsignor  turned  to  his  chief. 

"  Your  Eminence,"  he  said,  "  what  was  that 
about  danger?     I  did  not  understand." 

The  thin  face  was  a  little  pale  with  the  exertions 
of  the  speech,  as  it  turned  to  him  in  answer. 

"  I  will  tell  you  that,"  he  said,  ''  as  soon  as  the 
Bill  becomes  law." 


CHAPTER  VI 

TT  was  an  astounding  scene  in  which  Monsignor 
•*'  found  himself,  six  weeks  later  —  extraordinary 
from  the  extreme  quietness  of  it,  and  the  enormous 
importance  of  the  issue  for  which  they  waited. 

The  Cardinal  and  he  had  gone  down  to  Lord 
Southminster's  house  on  the  coast  of  Kent  for  three 
or  four  days  to  wait  for  the  final  news,  as  it  was 
wished  to  avoid  the  possibility  of  any  dangerous 
excitement  on  the  night  of  the  division;  and  it  was 
thought  that  the  Cardinal's  absence  might  be  of 
service  in  preventing  any  formidable  demonstration 
at  Westminster.  He  was  to  return  to  London,  in 
the  event  of  the  Bill  pajssing,  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. 

The  situation  was  as  follows :  — 

A  completely  unexpected  opposition  had  showed 
itself  as  soon  as  the  Bill  was  announced.  It  was 
perfectly  well  known  that  this  opposition  was  al- 
most entirely  artificial ;  but  it  was  so  well  engineered 
that  there  was  grave  doubt  whether  it  might  not  af- 
fect the  voting  in  the  Lower  House.     The  Upper 

299 

20 


300  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

House,  it  was  notorious,  was  practically  unanimous 
in  favor  of  the  Bill;  and  there  had  been  one  or 
two  unpleasant  demonstrations  outside  the  entrance 
to  the  Second  Chamber. 

The  opposition  was  artificial  —  that  is  to  say,  its 
activities  were  managed  after  the  manner  of  a 
stage-army,  and  the  protesters  were  largely  Ger- 
man; but  the  crowds  were  so  great,  and  the  gen- 
uineness of  their  opposition,  such  as  it  was,  so  ob- 
vious, that  very  clear  signs  of  wavering  had  become 
apparent,  even  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  more 
prominent  Ministers  of  the  Crown.  Twice,  also, 
during  public  appearances  of  the  King,  who  was 
well  known  as  a  strong  advocate  of  the  Bill,  there 
had  been  considerable  disturbances  amongst  the 
crowds. 

All  this  had  come,  of  course,  to  the  ears  of  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities  far  more  forcibly  than  the 
world  outside  suspected.  There  had  been  threaten- 
ing letters;  twice  the  Cardinal's  carriage  had  been 
mobbed;  a  dozen  well-known  priests  had  been  mo- 
lested in  the  public  streets.  There  had  been  meet- 
ings and  consultations  of  all  kinds;  there  had  even 
been  a  moment  wheji  it  seemed  as  if  the  Cardinal 
and  the  Prime  Minister  stood  almost  alone  in  their 
complete  resolution.  ...  It  was  not  that  any 
really  responsible  persons  contemplated  the  aban- 
donment of  the  Bill;  but  a  party  had  almost  been 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  301 

formed  for  its  postponement,  in  the  hope  that  when 
once  the  opposition  had  been  dissolved  it  would  be 
difficult  to  reorganize  it  again.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  resolutes  stood  for  the  assertion  that  just  be- 
cause things  were  really  critical  in  Germany —  (in 
the  state  of  affairs  that  followed  the  Emperor's  con- 
version) —  it  was  now  the  time  for  England  to  ad- 
vance, that  any  hesitation  shown  now  would 
be  taken  as  a  sign  of  weakness,  and  that  the 
Socialists'  cause  would  be  thereby  enormously 
advanced. 

Three  or  four  results  therefore  were  possible, 
from  the  determination  of  the  Government  to  push 
the  Bill  forward  and  to  present  it  for  its  second 
reading  this  evening.  First,  it  might  pass  trium- 
phantly, if  the  leaders  could  succeed  in  inspiring 
their  followers  with  confidence.  Secondly,  it  might 
be  rejected,  if  the  panic  spread;  for,  under  the  new 
parliamentary  system  that  had  succeeded  fifty  years 
ago  to  the  old  Party  Government,  it  was  impossible 
to  reckon  accurately  on  how  members  would  ulti- 
mately vote.  Thirdly,  it  might  pass  with  a  narrow 
majority;  and  in  this  event,  it  was  certain  that  a 
very  long  delay  would  follow  before  the  Upper 
House  would  have  an  opportunity  of  handing  it  in 
for  the  Royal  assent.  Fourthly  —  well,  almost 
anything  else  might  happen,  if  the  crowd,  assembled 
in  Parliament  Square,  and  swelled  every  hour  by 


302  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

new  arrivals,  showed  itself  predominantly  hostile. 

Lord  Southminster's  house  needs  no  description. 
It  is  probably,  even  to-day,  as  well  known  as  any 
place  in  England :  there  is  no  guide  book  which  does 
not  give  at  least  three  or  four  pages  to  the  castle, 
as  well  as  a  few  lines  to  the  tiny  historical  seaside 
village  beneath  from  which  the  marquisate  derives 
its  name.  And  it  was  in  the  little  dining-room  that 
adjoined  the  hall  that  the  man  who  had  lost  his 
memory  found  himself  on  this  evening  with  half  a 
dozen  other  men  and  a  couple  of  ladies. 

It  was  a  small  octagonal  room,  designed  in  one 
of  the  towers  that  looked  out  over  the  sea ;  paneled 
in  painted  wood  and  furnished  with  extreme  plain- 
ness. On  one  side  a  door  opened  upon  the  three 
little  parlors  that  were  used  when  the  party  was 
small ;  at  the  back  a  lobby  led  into  the  old  hall  itself ; 
on  the  third  side  was  the  door  used  by  the  servants. 

Lord  Southminster  himself  was  still  a  young 
man,  who  had  not  yet  married.  His  grandfather 
had  become  a  Catholic  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VII  ; 
and  the  whole  house  had  reverted  to  the  old  religion 
under  which  it  had  been  originally  built,  with  the 
greatest  ease  and  grace.  The  present  owner  was 
one  of  the  rising  politicians  who  were  most  de- 
termined to  carry  the  Bill  through;  and  he  had  al- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  303 

ready  made  for  himself  something  of  a  reputation 
by  his  speeches  in  the  Upper  House.  Monsignor 
had  met  him  half  a  dozen  times  already,  and  thor- 
oughly liked  this  fair-haired,  clean-shaven  young 
man  who  was  such  a  devoted  adherent  of  the  Cath- 
olic cause. 

A  little  silence  had  fallen  after  old  Lady  South- 
minster  and  her  sister  had  gone  out,  and  it  had 
been  curious  to  notice  how  little  had  been  said  dur- 
ing dinner  of  the  event  that  was  proceeding  in  Lon- 
don. 

Half  a  dozen  times  already  since  they  had  sat 
down  a  silent  man  in  the  black  gown  of  a  secretary 
had  slipped  in  with  a  printed  slip  of  paper  and  laid 
it  before  the  Marquis  and  then  disappeared  again, 
and  it  was  astonishing  how  the  conversation  had 
ceased  on  the  instant,  as  the  paper  was  read  and 
passed  round. 

Those  messages  had  not  been  altogether  reassur- 
ing. 

The  first  was  timed  at  8:14,  London,  and  had 
been  read  before  the  clock  chimed  the  quarter-past. 
It  ran: 

"  MEMBERS  ARE  ARRIVING  AFTER  DINNER.       HAZEL- 
TON   MOBBED  IN  THE  SQUARE.'"' 

The  second,  ten  minutes  later,  ran : 


304  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 


FOUR    TITANIC-LINE    BOATS    FROM    GERMANY    RE- 
PORTED    IN     SIGHT.       CORDON     OF     POLICE-VOLORS 


The  third: 

*'  MOB  REPORTED  DIRECTION  OF  HAMPSTEAD.  THE 
PRIME  MINISTER  HAS  BEGUN  HIS  SPEECH.  HOUSE 
FULL." 

The  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  contained  abstracts 
from  the  speech,  and  added  that  it  was  becoming  in- 
creasingly difficult  to  hear,  owing  to  the  noise  from 
outside. 

Twenty  minutes  had  now  elapsed  and  no  further 
message  had  been  received. 

Monsignor  looked  up  at  the  Victorian  clock  over 
the  carved  mantelpiece  and  glanced  at  his  host.  The 
young  man's  eyes  met  his  own. 

"  It's  twenty-five  past  nine,"  said  Lord  South- 
minster. 

The  Cardinal  looked  up.  He  had  not  spoken  for 
three  or  four  minutes,  but  otherwise  had  shown  no 
signs  of  discomposure. 

"And  the  last  message  was  just  after  nine?  "  he 
said. 

The  other  nodded. 

"  What  time  is  the  division  expected  ?  " 

"  Not  before  midnight.     Three  guns  will  be  fired, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  305 

as  I  said,  your  Eminence,  as  soon  as  the  division 
has  taken  place.  We  shall  know  before  my  secre- 
tary will  have  time  to  cross  the  hall." 

Again  there  was  silence. 

Outside  the  night  was  quiet.  The  village  itself 
lay,  spread  out  above  the  beach,  a  hundred  feet  be- 
low the  windows,  and  the  only  sound  was  the  steady 
lap  and  plash  of  the  rollers  upon  the  shingle.  The 
place  was  completely  protected  by  the  Southminster 
estate  from  any  encroachment  of  houses,  and  even 
the  station  itself  lay  half  a  mile  away  inland. 

Monsignor  looked  again  at  the  faces  of  those  who 
sat  with  him.  Opposite  was  Lord  Southminster 
himself  in  the  ordinary  quiet  evening  dress  of  his 
class,  his  guild-badge  worn,  as  the  custom  was,  like 
a  star  on  his  left  breast.  His  face  showed  nothing 
except  an  air  of  attention;  there  was  no  excitement 
in  it,  nor  even  suspense.  On  his  right  sat  the 
Cardinal  in  his  scarlet.  He  was  smiling  gravely  to 
himself,  and  his  lips  moved  slightly  now  and  then. 
At  this  moment  he  was  playing  gently  with  a  wal- 
nut-shell that  lay  on  his  plate.  The  three  others 
showed  more  signs  of  excitement.  Old  General 
Hartington,  who  could  remember  being  taken  to 
London  to  see  the  festivities  at  the  coronation  of 
George  V,  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  frowning. 
(He  had  been  reminiscent  this  evening  in  a  rather 
voluble  manner,  but  had  not  uttered  a  word  now  for 


3o6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

five  minutes.)  The  chaplain  had  shifted  round  in 
his  chair,  watching  the  door,  and  the  sixth  man,  a 
cousin  of  the  host,  who,  Monsignor  understood, 
held  some  responsible  post  in  the  Government  volor 
service,  was  sitting  just  now  with  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

Still  no  one  spoke. 

The  cousin  pushed  back  his  chair  suddenly  and 
•went  to  the  window. 

"Well,  Jack?"  said  the  host. 

"Nothing  —  just  going  to  have  a  look  at  the 
weather." 

He  stood  there,  having  pulled  back  the  curtain  a 
little  and  unlatched  the  shutter,  looking  out  through 
the  glass. 

Then  Lord  Southminster's  reserve  broke  down. 

"  If  it's  not  done  to-night,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"  God  only  knows  —     Well,  well." 

"  It  will  be  done  to-night,"  said  the  Cardinal,  still 
without  lifting  his  eyes. 

*'  Certainly,  your  Eminence,  if  nothing  interferes; 
but  how  can  we  be  sure  of  that?  I  know  the  Cab- 
inet means  business." 

"  It's  half  an  hour  since  the  last  message,"  ob- 
served the  General. 

Lord  Southminster  got  up  suddenly  and  went  to 
the  lobby-door.  As  he  went  the  door  into  the  par- 
lors opened  and  his  mother  looked  in. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  307 

"Any  more  news,  my  son?  " 

"  No,  mother.     I  was  just  going  to  ask." 

The  old  lady  came  forward  as  her  son  went  out 
■ —  a  splendid  old  creature  in  her  lace  and  jewels  — 
active  still  and  upright  in  spite  of  her  years.  She 
made  a  little  gesture  as  the  men  offered  to  move, 
and  went  and  leaned  by  the  old-fashioned  open  fire- 
place, such  as  her  husband  had  put  in  at  the  restora- 
tion throughout  the  house. 

"  Your  Eminence,  can  you  reassure  us  ?  "  she  said, 
smiling. 

The  Cardinal,  too,  smiled  as  he  turned  in  his 
chair. 

"  I  am  confident  the  Bill  will  pass,"  he  said. 
*'  But  I  do  not  know  yet  what  the  price  will  be." 

"Your  Eminence  means  in  England?  Or  else- 
where?" asked  the  chaplain  abruptly. 

"  In  England  and  elsewhere,  father." 

Old  Lady  Jane  Morpeth  appeared  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  the  two  ladies  sat  down  on  the  high  oak 
settle  that  screened  the  fire  from  the  window.  They 
showed  no  signs  of  anxiety;  but  Monsignor  per- 
ceived that  their  return  at  all  to  this  room  just  now 
was  significant.  Simultaneously  the  young  man 
came  in  again,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Our  inquiries  are  not  answered,"  he  said  sharply. 
"  We  are  trying  to  get  into  touch  with  another  of- 
fice." 


3o8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

No  one  spoke  for  a  minute.  Even  to  Monsig- 
nor,  who  still  found  it  hard  always  to  understand  the 
communication-system  of  the  time,  it  was  obvious 
that  something  must  have  happened.  He  knew  that 
Southminster  Castle  had  been  put  into  wireless  touch 
with  the  great  Marconi  office  in  Parliament  Square, 
and  that  a  failure  to  be  answered  meant  that  some- 
thing unexpected  had  happened.  But  it  was  entirely 
impossible  to  conjecture  for  certain  what  this  some- 
thing might  be. 

"  That  is  serious,"  remarked  Lady  Southminster, 
without  moving  a  muscle. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  her  son,  and  sat  down  again. 

Then  the  man  who  was  looking  out  of  the 
window  turned  and  came  back  into  the  room, 
latching  the  shutters  and  putting  the  curtains  into 
place. 

"Well,  Jack?"  asked  the  General. 

"I  have  counted  eight  or  nine  volors,"  he  said; 
"  usually  there  are  only  two  at  this  time.  I  went  to 
look  for  them." 

"Which  way?" 

"  Three  this  way  and  five  the  other." 

Monsignor  did  not  dare  to  ask  for  an  interpre- 
tation. But  he  was  aware  that  the  air  of  tenseness 
in  the  room  tightened  up  still  further. 

The  General  got  up. 

*' Southminster,"   he  said,  "I  think  Fll  take  a 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  309 

stroll  outside  if  I  may.  One  might  see  something, 
you  know." 

"  Go  up  to  the  keep,  i£  you  like.  There's  a  cov- 
ered path  most  of  the  way  up.  There's  a  look  out 
there,  you  know.  I  had  one  set  in  case  the  wireless 
failed.  At  any  rate,  they  may  see  the  rockets 
farther  along  the  coast." 

Monsignor,  too,  stood  up.  His  restlessness  in- 
creased every  moment,  although  he  scarcely  knew 
why. 

"  May  I  come  with  you,  too?  "  he  said.  "  Will 
your  Eminence  excuse  me  ?  " 

(n) 

The  two  said  nothing  as  they  went  out  through 
the  dimly  lighted  hall.  Overhead  hung  the  old  ban- 
ners in  the  high  wooden  roof ;  a  great  fire  blazed  on 
the  hearth ;  and  under  the  musician's  gallery  at  the 
farther  end  they  saw  the  bright  little  window  be- 
hind which  sat  the  secretary. 

They  stopped  here  and  peered  in. 

He  was  seated  with  his  back  to  them  before  an 
instrument  not  altogether  unlike  an  old-fashioned 
organ.  A  long  row  of  black  keys  was  in  front  of 
him;  and  half  a  dozen  stops  protruded  on  either 
side.  Before  him,  in  the  front,  a  glass  panel  pro- 
tected some  kind  of  white  sheet;  and  as  the  priest 
looked  in  he  could  see  a  movement  as  of  small 


3IO  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

bluish  sparks  playing  upon  this.  He  had  long  ago 
made  up  his  mind  not  to  attempt  to  understand  mod- 
ern machinery;  and  he  had  no  kind  of  idea  what 
all  this  meant,  beyond  a  guess  that  the  keys  were 
for  sending  messages,  and  the  white  sheet  for  re- 
ceiving them. 

"  Any  news  ?  "  said  the  General  suddenly. 

The  secretary  did  not  move  or  answer.  His 
hands  were  before  him,  hidden,  and  he  appeared  en- 
tirely absorbed. 

It  must  have  been  a  minute  before  he  turned 
round,  drawing  out  as  he  did  so  from  before  him 
a  slip  of  paper  like  those  he  had  already  brought  in. 

"  This  is  from  Rye,  sir,"  he  said  shortly.  "  They, 
too,  have  lost  communication  with  Parliament 
Square.  That  is  all,  sir.  I  must  take  this  in  at 
once." 

The  two  passed  on,  still  without  speaking;  and  it 
was  not  until  they  were  going  slowly  up  the  long 
covered  staircase  that  ran  inside  the  skirting  wall 
that  connected  the  keep  with  the  more  modern  part 
of  the  castle  that  Monsignor  began  — 

"  Tm  very  ignorant,"  he  said.  "  Can  you  tell  me 
the  possibilities?  " 

The  General  paused  before  answering. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  worst  possibility  is  a  riot, 
engineered  by  the  Socialists.  H  that  is  successful, 
it  means  a  certain  delay  of  at  least  several  years; 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  311 

and,  at  the  worst,  it  means  that  the  Socialists  will 
increase  enormously  throughout  Europe.  And  then 
anything  may  happen." 

•'  But  I  thought  that  all  real  danger  was  past,  and 
that  the  Socialists  were  discredited." 

"  Certainly,  in  one  sense.  In  every  country,  that 
is  to  say,  they  are  in  a  negligible  minority.  But  if 
all  these  minorities  are  added  together,  they  are  not 
negligible  at  all.  The  Cabinet  has  produced  this 
Bill  suddenly,  as  of  course  you  know,  in  order  to 
prevent  any  large  Continental  demonstration,  as  this 
would  certainly  have  a  tremendous  effect  upon  Eng- 
land. But  it  seems  that  they've  been  organizing 
for  months.  They  must  have  known  this  was  com- 
ing     .     .     ." 

"And  if  the  SociaHsts  fail?" 

"  Well,  then  they'll  make  their  last  stand  in  Ger- 
many. But  you  know  this  better  than  I  do,  Mon- 
signor?  " 

"  I  know  a  good  deal  here  and  there,"  confessed 
the  other ;  "  but  I  find  it  hard  sometimes  to  combine 
it  all.     I  had  an  illness,  you  know  — " 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes." 

They  paused  for  breath  in  an  embrasure  in  the 
wall,  where  a  section  of  a  half -tower  supported  the 
wall,  itself  running  down  on  to  the  cliff  side.  A 
couple  of  windows  gave  a  view  of  the  sea,  now  a 
dark  gulf  under  the  cloudy  sky,  sprinkled  with  a 


312  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

few  moving  lights,  here  and  there,  of  vessels  going 
up  or  down  the  Channel. 

"  And  suppose  the  Bill  passes  ?  "  began  the  priest. 

"  If  the  Bill  passes,  we  need  fear  nothing  in  Eng- 
land, if  it  passes  with  a  good  majority.  You  know 
Government  is  an  extraordinarily  delicate  machine 
nowadays;  and  if  the  Bill  goes  through  really  well, 
it'll  be  an  infallible  sign  that  the  country  refuses  to 
take  alarm.  And  if  it  fails,  or  only  narrowly 
passes  —  well,  it'll  be  the  other  way.  The  whole 
work  will  have  to  be  done  again,  or  at  least  be- 
gun-" 

He  faced  round  suddenly. 

"  Monsignor,"  he  said,  "  I  wouldn't  say  this  to 
every  one.  But  I  tell  you  we're  at  a  very  critical 
moment.  These  Socialists  are  stronger  than  any 
one  dreamed.  Their  organization  is  simply  perfect. 
Do  you  know  any  of  them?  " 

"  I  have  met  Hardy." 

"  That's  a  brilliant  man,  you  know." 

They  talked  no  more  during  the  rest  of  the  ascent, 
until  they  emerged  at  last  on  to  the  top  of  the  round 
keep,  where  the  old  bonfires  used  to  burn,  and  where 
the  old  iron  cradle,  used  even  now  at  coronations 
and  great  national  events,  still  thrust  up  its  skeleton 
silhouette  against  the  pale  sky.  To  the  priest's  sur- 
prise the  silhouette  was  largely  filled  in. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  313 

A  figure  came  towards  them,  saluted,  and  stood 
waiting. 

"Eh?     Who's  this?"  snapped  the  soldier. 

*'  The  look  out,  sir.  We've  orders  to  watch 
Rye." 

"Why?" 

"  The  wireless  is  out  of  communication,  sir.  His 
lordship  arranged  a  week  ago  that  there  should  be 
supplementary  rockets." 

"  Where  are  the  guns  ?  "  asked  Monsignor,  who 
was  looking  about  him,  at  the  empty  leads,  the  bat- 
tlemented  parapet  against  the  sky,  and  then  back  at 
the  servant's  figure. 

"  Down  below,  father.  They're  to  be  fired  from 
here  if  three  white  rockets  go  up." 

While  the  two  others  still  talked,  the  priest  went 
to  the  side  and  looked  over,  again  suddenly  over- 
whelmed by  the  strangeness  of  the  whole  position. 
Once  again  there  came  on  him  the  sense  of  irre- 
sponsible unreality.  .  .  .  He  stared  out,  hardly 
seeing  that  on  which  he  looked :  the  gray  mass  of 
the  lower  castle  beneath  with  lighted  windows,  at 
the  blankness  beyond ;  again  with  the  scattered  lights 
—  the  nearer  ones,  within  what  seemed  a  stone's- 
throw,  along  the  village  street  —  the  farther  ones, 
infinitely  remote,  out  upon  the  invisible  sea.  There 
again,  too,   far  off  across  the  land,  shone  another 


314  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

cluster  of  lights,  seen  rather  as  a  luminous  patch, 
that  marked  Rye.  There,  too,  eyes  were  watching ; 
there,  too,  it  w^as  felt  that  interests  were  at  stake, 
so  vast  and  so  unknown,  that  heaven  or  hell  might 
be  within  their  limits.  He  looked  inland,  and  there, 
too,  was  darkness,  but  darkness  unrelieved.  Near 
at  hand,  immediately  below  the  bounding  walls,  rose 
up  the  dark  swelling  outlines  that  he  knew  to  be  the 
woods  of  the  park,  crowding  up  against  the  very  cas- 
tle walls  themselves ;  and  beyond  dimness  after  dim- 
ness, to  meet  the  sky.     .     .     . 

It  seemed  to  him  incredible,  as  he  looked,  that 
things  of  such  moment  should  be  under  way,  some- 
where beyond  that  sleeping  country ;  and  yet,  as  his 
eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  night,  he  could  make 
out  at  last  a  faint  glow  in  the  sky  to  the  north  that 
marked  the  outskirts  of  that  enormous  city  of  which 
he  was  a  citizen,  where  such  matters  even  now  were 
approaching  a  decision. 

For  it  was  only  little  by  little  that  he  had  become 
aware  that  a  real  crisis  was  at  hand.  The  Cardinal 
had  told  him  the  facts,  indeed,  in  the  dispassionate, 
tolerant  manner  that  was  characteristic  of  him;  but 
the  point  of  view  necessary  to  take  them  in  as  a 
coherent  whole,  to  see  them,  not  as  isolated  events, 
but  with  the  effect  of  the  past  upon  them  and  their 
hidden  implications  and  probabilities  for  the  future, 
this  needed  that  the  observer  should  be  of  the  tem- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  315 

per  and  atmosphere  of  the  time.  For  prophecy  just 
now  was  Httle  better  than  feehng  at  outlines  in  the 
dark.  Facts  could  be  discerned  and  apprehended 
by  all  —  and  the  priest  was  well  aware  of  his  own 
capacities  in  this  —  but  their  interpretation  was  an- 
other matter  altogether.  ...  He  felt  helpless 
and  muzzled.     .     .     . 

The  General  came  towards  him. 

*'  Well,"  he  said,  "  anything  to  be  seen?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  We  may  as  well  make  our  way  down  again. 
There's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  stopping  here." 

As  they  made  their  w^ay  down  again  through  the 
covered  passage,  the  General  once  more  began  to 
talk  about  the  crisis. 

Monsignor  had  heard  it  all  before ;  but  he  listened 
for  all  that.  It  seemed  to  him  worth  while  to  collect 
opinions;  and  this  soldier's  very  outspoken  remarks 
cast  a  sort  of  sharp  clarity  upon  the  situation  that 
the  priest  found  useful.  The  establishment  of  the 
Church  in  England  was  being  regarded  on  the  Con- 
tinent as  a  kind  of  test  case;  and  even  more  by  the 
Anglo-Saxon  countries  throughout  the  world.  In 
itself  it  was  not  so  vast  a  step  forward  as  might  be 
thought.  It  would  make  no  very  radical  changes  in 
actual  affairs,  since  the  Church  already  enjoyed 
enormous  influence  and  complete  liberty.     But  the 

point  was  that  it  was  being  taken  as  a  kind  of  sym- 
21 


3i6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

bol  by  both  sides;  and  this  explained  on  the  one 
hand  the  tactics  of  the  Government  in  bringing  it 
suddenly  forward,  and  the  extraordinary  zeal  with 
which  the  Socialists  were  demonstrating  against  it. 

"  The  more  I  think  of  it,"  said  the  General,  ''  the 
more  — " 

Monsignor  stepped  suddenly  aside  into  the  em- 
brasure at  which  they  had  halted  on  the  way  up. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  I  thought  I  saw  — " 

The  General  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation,  pressing 
his  head  over  the  priest's  shoulder. 

"  That's  the  second,"  whispered  the  priest  harshly. 

Together  they  waited,  staring  out  together 
through  the  tall,  narrow  window  that  looked  towards 
Rye. 

Then  for  the  third  time  there  rose  against  the 
far-off  horizon,  above  that  faint  peak  of  luminosity 
that  marked  where  Rye  watched  over  her  marshes, 
a  thin  line  of  white  fire,  slackening  its  pace  as  it 
rose. 

Before  it  had  burst  in  sparks,  there  roared  out 
overhead  a  deafening  voice  of  fire  and  thunder, 
shaking  the  air  about  them,  bewildering  the  brain. 
Then  another.     Then  another. 

Beneath  the  two  as  they  stood,  shaking  with  the 
shock,  silent  and  open-mouthed,  staring  at  one  an- 
other, in  the  courtyard  a  door  banged ;  then  another; 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  317 

and  then  a  torrent  of  voices  and  footsteps  as  the 
servants  and  grooms  poured  out  of  the  lower  doors. 

(Ill) 

Two  hours  later  the  two  ecclesiastics  sat  together, 
on  either  side  of  the  large  table  in  the  Cardinal's 
room.  The  Cardinal  passed  over  the  sheets  one  by 
one  as  he  finished  them.  One  set  was  being  brought 
straight  up  here  from  the  little  office  at  the  end  of 
the  hall.  Another  set,  they  knew,  was  simultane- 
ously being  read  aloud  by  Lord  Southminster  in  the 
hall  below. 

The  guns  had  aroused  even  the  most  drowsy ;  and 
the  whole  population,  village  as  well  as  castle,  had 
poured  into  the  courtyard  to  hear  the  news. 

Monsignor  sat  and  read  sheet  after  sheet  after  his 
chief,  hopelessly  trying  to  notice  and  remember  the 
principal  points  of  the  report.  Everything  was  re- 
corded there  —  the  assembling  of  the  crowds,  the 
difficulty  that  the  later  members  found  in  getting 
through  into  the  House  at  all;  the  breakdown  of  the 
police  arrangements;  and  the  storming  of  the  wire- 
less station  by  an  organized  mob,  many  of  whom  had 
been  later  put  under  arrest. 

Then  there  was  the  Prime  Minister's  speech,  re- 
corded word  by  word  in  the  machines,  and  translated 
later,  by  machinery  instead  of  by  human  labor,  into 
terms  of  dots  and  dashes,  themselves  transmitted 


3i8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

again  over  miles  of  country,  and  retranslated  again 
by  mechanical  devices  into  these  actual  printed 
sheets  that  the  two  were  reading. 

The  speech  was  given  in  full,  down  to  that  tre- 
mendous scene  when  half  the  House,  distracted  at 
last  by  the  cries  that  grew  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
the  messengers  that  appeared  and  reappeared  from 
outside,  had  risen  to  its  feet.     And  then  — 

The  Cardinal  leaned  back  suddenly,  with  a  swift 
indrawing  of  his  breath  that  was  almost  the  first 
sign  of  emotion  that  he  had  shown. 

Monsignor  looked  up.  The  last  two  sheets  were 
still  under  the  ringed  hand  that  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  Well,  it's  done,"  said  the  Cardinal  softly,  almost 
as  if  talking  to  himself.  "  But  it  needed  his  last 
card." 

"Your  Eminence?" 

"  The  announcement  as  to  the  East,"  went  on 
the  other,  with  the  same  air.  ''  I  thank  God  it  came 
in  time." 

"  Your  Eminence,  I  don't  understand." 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  him  full. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  the  Holy  Father  was  accepted 
as  Arbitrator  of  the  East  by  the  united  Powers  this 
morning.  The  news  was  in  the  Prime  Minister's 
hands  at  six  o'clock.  But  Fm  sorry  he  had  to  use 
it;  it  would  have  been  stronger  without.     .     .     . 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  319 

Don't  you  understand,  Monsignor?  The  House 
would  have  refused  to  vote  otherwise.'' 

"But  it's  finished  —  it's  finished,  isn't  it,  your 
Eminence?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  finished.  Or  had  we  better  say  it's 
begun.  Now  the  last  conflict  begins.  .  .  . 
Now,  Monsignor,  I'm  afraid  I  must  begin  to  dictate. 
Would  you  mind  setting  the  phonographs  ?  " 

From  the  hall  beneath  rose  a  sudden  confusion  of 
cheering  and  stamping  of  feet. 


PART  III 


CHAPTER  I 

(I). 

44lt/rONSIGNOR,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "I  am 
^^^  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  go,  after 
all.  It  is  extremely  important  that  the  Catholic 
authorities  in  England  should  be  represented  in  this 
scheme.  And  I  think  you  will  have  to  travel  with 
the  first  batch.  They  leave  Queenstown  on  the  first 
of  April." 

"  Certainly.     And  when  shall  I  be  back,  your  Em- 
inence? " 

''  You  must  judge  for  yourself.  It  will  not  be 
more  than  a  month  or  six  weeks  at  the  outside,  and 
I  dare  say  a  good  deal  less.  It  will  depend  on  the 
temper  of  the  settlers.  The  American  civil  authori- 
ties will  have  the  final  arrangements.  But  it  is  ex- 
ceedingly important  that  the  emigrants  should  have 
some  one  to  speak  for  them ;  and  as,  of  course,  the 
Church  will  be  believed  to  be  really  responsible,  it 
will  be  as  well  that  an  ecclesiastic  should  be  their 
friend.  Identify  yourself  with  them  as  far  as  pos- 
sible. The  civil  authorities  are  sure  to  be  inclined 
to  be  hard." 

323 


324  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Very  good,  your  Eminence." 

The  scheme  had  come  to  birth  very  rapidly. 

After  the  second  reading  of  the  EstabHshment 
Bill,  it  had  been  taken  for  granted,  and  rightly,  that 
the  rest  was  but  a  matter  of  time,  and  it  was  calcu- 
lated that,  considering  the  Government's  attitude, 
the  Bill  would  receive  the  royal  assent  before  the 
end  of  the  summer.  Immediately,  therefore,  the 
more  peaceable  Socialists  had  taken  fright,  and  in 
every  European  country  had  made  .representations 
that  now  that  their  last  refuges  in  Germany  and 
England  had  been  closed  to  them,  some  arrangement 
ought  to  be  made  by  which  they  could  enjoy  com- 
plete civil  and  religious  liberty  elsewhere.  The  idea 
had  been  in  the  air,  of  course,  for  a  considerable 
time.  There  had  been  complaints  on  all  sides  that 
public  opinion  was  too  strong,  that  Socialists,  in 
spite  of  the  protection  given  to  them,  suffered  a  good 
deal  in  informal  ways  owing  to  their  opinions,  and 
that  some  expedient  would  have  to  be  found  for 
their  relief.  Then  America  had  come  to  the  rescue, 
openly  and  formally,  and  had  offered  Massachusetts, 
which  already  had  a  large  proportion  of  Socialists 
in  its  population,  as  a  colony  which  would  be  tol- 
erated as  definitely  socialistic.  Christians  would  be 
warned  that  the  new  system  would,  if  the  Powers 
agreed,  be  on  definitely  non-Catholic  lines,  and  that 
the  emigration  laws  would  be  in  future  suspended 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  325 

with  regard  to  Massachusetts.  There  were,  of  course, 
innumerable  details  still  to  be  worked  out,  but  by 
the  end  of  February  the  understanding  was  estab- 
lished, and  from  every  European  country  emigrant 
parties  were  arranged. 

There  was  something  almost  attractive  about  the 
scheme  to  the  popular  mind.     It  had  been  talked  of 
for  years  before  —  this  arrangement  by  which  the 
Socialists  should  have  an  opportunity  of  working 
out  once  more  those  old  exploded  democratic  ideas 
to  which  they  still  clung  so  pathetically.     Every 
child  knew,  of  course,  how  fifty  years  before  the 
experiment  had  been  made  in  various  places,  and 
how    appalling    tyranny    had    been    the    result  — 
tyranny  that  is  over  those  who,  in  the  Socialist  com- 
munities,   still   held   to    Individualism.     But   what 
would  happen,  the  world  indulgently  wondered,  in 
a  community  where  there  were  no  Individualists? 
One  of  two  things  certainly  would  happen.     Either 
the  scheme  would  work  and  every  democrat  be  sat- 
isfied, or  the  theory  would  be  reduced  to  a  practical 
absurdity  and  the  poison  would  be  expelled  forever 
from  the  world's  system.     Besides,  if  this  asylum 
were   once   definitely   secured   and   guaranteed   by 
the  assent  of  the  Powers,  the  new  heresy  laws  that 
were  already  coming  to  birth  in  Germany,  that  were 
already   enforced   with   considerable  vigor   in   the 
Latin  countries,  and  were  (it  was  known)  being 


326  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

prepared  and  adapted  for  England  —  these  could 
now  go  forward  and  be  applied  universally,  without 
any  fear  of  undue  severity.  It  would,  once  and 
for  all,  get  rid  of  those  endless  complaints  as  to 
Christian  injustice  in  silencing  the  free  expression 
of  infidel  and  socialistic  ideas,  and  offer  them  a 
refuge  where  such  things  could  not  only  be  dis- 
cussed, but  put  to  the  test  of  practice. 

Monsignor  Masterman  himself  was  still  in  a  state 
of  personal  indecision,  but  he  certainly  welcomed 
this  solution  of  some  of  his  interior  troubles,  and  he 
had  warmly  supported  the  scheme  at  every  oppor- 
tunity he  had. 

But  it  was  strange  how  he  could  not  yet,  in  spite 
of  his  efforts,  get  rid  of  that  deep  discomfort  which 
had  been,  for  a  time,  lulled  by  his  visit  to  Ireland. 
There  was  still,  deep  down  in  his  mind,  a  sense  that 
the  Christianity  he  saw  round  him,  and  which  he 
himself  helped  to  administer,  was  not  the  religion 
of  its  Founder.  There  was  still  an  instinct  which 
he  could  not  eradicate,  telling  that  the  essence  of 
the  Christian  attitude  lay  in  readiness  to  suffer. 
And  he  only  saw  round  him,  so  far  as  the  public 
action  of  the  Church  was  concerned,  a  triumphant 
Government.  He  could  not  conceal  from  himself  a 
fear  that  the  world  and  the  Church  had,  somehow  or 
other,  changed  places.     .     .     . 

However,  this  new  scheme  was,  at  any  rate,  an 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  =327 

act  both  of  justice  and  mercy,  and  he  was  very- 
wining  indeed  —  in  fact  he  had  actually  proposed 
it  more  than  once  —  to  go  himself  with  the  first  emi- 
grants from  England  to  Massachusetts. 

(ny 

In  spite  of  all  that  he  had  seen  on  his  journeys, 
he  still  found  an  extraordinary  fascination  in  watch- 
ing the  scene  at  Queenstown,  as  the  great  Olympic- 
line  volors  each  carrying  three  hundred  passengers, 
one  by  one  made  ready  and  left.  He  himself  was 
to  leave  in  the  last  of  the  four. 

From  the  stage  erected  at  the  end  of  the  long 
headland  to  the  south  of  the  town,  he  could  see  the 
harbor  on  the  right,  closed  in  by  the  city  itself, 
rising  up  from  the  water's  edge  to  the  huge  cathe- 
dral, finished,  fifty  years  before;  and  on  his  left  the 
open  sea.  It  was  a  brilliant  spring  morning;  the 
air,  just  charged  with  moisture  and  soaked  by  sun- 
light, was  a  radiant  medium  through  which  the  city 
sparkled  on  one  side  and  the  long,  low  rollers  shone 
on  the  other,  discharging  themselves  against  the 
foot  of  the  rocks  four  hundred  feet  below  where  he 
stood.  Sea-birds  wheeled  and  screamed  about  him, 
tilting  and  sliding  up  the  slopes  of  the  fresh  west 
wind ;  but  he  noticed  that  as  the  first  volor  detached 
itself  and  slid  out  over  the  sea,  pausing  for  an  instant 
to  head  round  to  the  compass,  as  if  by  magic  every 


328  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

bird  was  gone:  he  could  see  them  far  away,  white 
dots  skimming  inland  as  if  for  protection. 

These  Transatlantic  volors  were  incalculably  in 
advance  of  any  he  had  seen  before.  He  turned,  as 
the  first  moved  out,  its  long  upper  and  lower  decks 
lined  with  watching,  silent  faces  —  of  whom  the 
great  majority  were  those  of  men  —  and  asked  for 
a  little  information  from  the  genial  Irish  canon  who 
had  come  from  the  cathedral  with  him,  to  see  him 
start. 

"  They  are  eight  hundred  feet  long,"  he  said, 
"  and  limited  to  three  hundred  passengers.  Of 
course  there's  the  crew  and  stewards  besides.  The 
crossing  varies  from  thirty-six  to  forty-eight  hours. 
.  .  .  Yes,  transhipments  are  sometimes  made 
during  the  voyage;  but  it's  not  usual.  It  involves 
a  good  deal  of  delay." 

Monsignor  listened  as  the  talk  went  on,  gather- 
ing a  few  facts  here  and  there  —  the  reason  why 
Queenstown  was  still  retained,  as  in  the  days  of  the 
old  steamships,  for  a  principal  port,  in  spite  of 
the  transformation  of  Ireland;  the  total  weight 
of  the  boats  when  the  gas  was  out  of  them;  above 
all,  the  incredible  speed  that  could  be  attained  and 
kept  up,  with  a  good  following  wind.  He  learned 
also  how,  by  the  very  rigid  laws  of  air-way,  en- 
forced now  by  all  nations  under  very  heavy  penal- 
ties, the  danger  of  collisions  was  practically  abol- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  329 

ished ;  and  so  forth.  The  canon  talked  fluently  and 
well ;  but  the  mass  of  new  information  was  so  great, 
and  the  interest  of  watching  so  intense,  that  the  in- 
quirer's attention  wandered  a  good  deal. 

He  was  watching  the  crowd  of  emigrants,  two 
hundred  feet  below  on  the  ground,  seen  through  the 
spidery  framework  of  the  stage,  railed  off  into  a 
circle,  surrounded  by  barriers  that  kept  out  the  on- 
lookers; and  diminishing  visibly  as  he  watched,  as 
the  full  platforms  flew  up  to  the  embarking  stage 
just  below  where  he  stood  and  the  empty  platforms 
descended  again.  The  murmur  of  talking  came  up 
to  him  like  the  buzz  of  a  hive. 

He  understood  that  he  was  assisting  at  an  his- 
torical event.  For  to-day  practically  marked,  in 
England  at  any  rate,  the  practical  recognition  of  the 
two  principles  which  up  to  now  had  been  found, 
from  their  mutual  irreconcilability,  the  cause  of 
practically  all  the  wars,  all  the  revolutions,  all  the 
incessant  human  quarrels  and  conflicts,  of  which  his- 
tory was  chiefly  composed  —  their  recognition  and 
their  adjustment.  These  two  principles  were  the 
liberty  of  the  individual  and  the  demands  of  so- 
ciety. On  one  side,  every  man  had  a  certain  in- 
herent right  to  demand  freedom;  on  the  other,  the 
freedom  of  one  individual  was  usually  found  to 
mean  the  servitude  of  another.  The  solution,  he 
began  to  think,  had  arrived  at  last  from  the  recogni- 


330  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

tion  that  there  were,  after  all,  only  two  logical  theo- 
ries of  government:  the  one,  that  power  came  from 
below,  the  other,  that  power  came  from  above.  The 
infidel,  the  Socialist,  the  materialist,  the  democrat, 
these  maintained  the  one;  the  Catholic,  the  Mon- 
archist, the  Imperialist  maintained  the  other.  For 
the  two,  he  perceived,  rose  ultimately  from  two  final 
theories  of  the  universe :  the  one  was  that  of  Monism 
—  that  all  life  was  one,  gradually  realizing  itself 
through  growth  and  civilization;  the  other  that  of 
Creation  —  that  a  Transcendent  God  had  made  the 
world,  and  delegated  His  sovereign  authority  down- 
wards through  grade  after  grade. 

So  he  meditated,  remembering  also  that  the  for- 
mer thing  was  rapidly  disappearing  from  the  world. 
These  Socialist  colonies  were  not  to  be  eternal,  after 
all:  they  were  but  temporary  refuges  for  minds  that 
were  behind  the  age.  Probably  another  century  or 
two  would  see  their  disappearance. 

The  second  and  third  boats  started  almost  simul- 
taneously, each  suddenly  sliding  free  from  either 
side  of  the  stage.  There  was  a  ringing  of  bells; 
one  boat,  he  saw,  shot  ahead  in  a  straight  line,  the 
other  curved  out  southwards.  He  watched  the  sec- 
ond. 

It  resembled  to  his  eyes  a  gigantic  dragon-fly  — 
a  long  gleaming  body,  ribbed  and  lined,  blazing  and 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  331 

winking  in  the  spring  sunlight,  moving  in  a  mist  of 
whirHng  wings.  From  the  angle  at  which  he 
watched  its  curve,  it  seemed  now  to  hang  sus- 
pended, diminishing  to  the  eye,  now  shooting  sud- 
denly ahead.  .  .  .  There  it  hung  again,  already 
a  mile  away,  as  if  poised  and  considering,  then  with 
increasing  speed  it  moved  on  and  on,  like  a  line  of 
brilliant  light ;  little  metallic  taps  sounded  across  the 
water;  it  met  the  horizon,  rose  above  it,  darkened, 
again  flashed  suddenly.     .     .     . 

He  turned  to  look  for  the  other ;  but,  so  far  as  he 
could  see,  the  huge  blue  arc  was  empty.  He  turned 
again ;  and  the  third,  too,  was  gone. 

A  great  ringing  of  bells  sounded  suddenly  be- 
neath him. 

"  YouVe  got  your  luggage  on  board,  Monsignor  ? 
.  .  .  Well,  you'd  better  be  going  on  board  your- 
self.    She'll  start  in  five  minutes." 

The  arrival  at  Boston  harbor  was  one  more 
strange  experience,  and  the  more  strange  because  the 
man  who  had  lost  his  memory  knew  that  he  was 
coming  into  a  civilization  which,  although  utterly  un- 
known to  him  by  experience,  yet  had  in  his  anticipa- 
tion a  curious  sense  of  familiarity. 

They  had  met  with  westerly  gales,  and  although 
the  movement  of  the  ship  seemed  wholly  unaffected 
(so  perfect   was   the  balancing  system),   yet   the 

22 


332  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

speed  was  comparatively  low,  and  it  was  not  until 
shortly  before  dawn  on  the  second  day  that  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  American  coast. 

Monsignor  woke  early  that  morning,  and  after 
lying  and  listening  for  half  an  hour  or  so  to  the 
strange  little  sounds  with  which  the  air  was  full  — 
the  steady  rush  of  wind  like  a  long  hush ;  the  shiver- 
ing of  some  tiny  loose  scale  in  one  of  the  planes  out- 
side his  window;  a  minute  inexplicable  tapping  be- 
neath the  floor  of  the  cabin  —  all  those  sounds  so 
unidentifiable  by  the  amateur,  and  yet  so  suggestive 
—  he  got  up,  dressed,  and  went  across  to  the  ora- 
tory, where  he  had  said  Mass  on  the  previous  morn- 
ing, to  say  his  prayers.  When  he  had  finished  he 
came  out  again,  went  upstairs,  and  along  to  the  end 
of  the  ship,  whence  from  a  protected  angle  he  could 
look  straight  ahead.  The  lights  were  all  on,  as  the 
sun  was  not  yet  up,  and  the  upper  deck,  except  for 
a  patrolling  oflicer,  was  entirely  empty. 

For  a  while  he  could  make  out  little  or  nothing 
beyond  the  jutting  prow  beneath  him,  itself  also  il- 
luminated, and  various  outlines  and  silhouettes  of 
devices  and  rigging  which  even  now  he  did  not  prop- 
erly understand.  Then,  as  his  eyes  grew  accus- 
tomed to  the  dark,  he  began  to  see. 

Beneath  him  flitted  a  corrugated  leaden  surface, 
flecked  occasionally  with  white,  which  he  knew  to  be 
water,  eight  hundred  feet  at  least  below,  and  once 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  333 

he  caught  a  gHmpse  of  a  flattened-looking,  fish- 
shaped  object,  which  went  again  in  an  instant, 
hghted  interiorly,  which  he  guessed  to  be  a  coasting 
steamer.  Before  him  nothing  at  first  was  visible 
except  an  enormous  gulf  of  gloom,  but  presently, 
as  the  dawn  came  on  behind,  this  gulf  became  tinged 
with  a  very  faint  rosy  color  in  its  upper  half,  en- 
abling him  to  distinguish  sea  from  sky,  and  almost 
immediately  afterwards  the  sea  itself  turned  to  a 
livid  pale  tinge  under  the  glowing  light. 

The  next  thing  that  he  noticed  was  that  the  edge 
of  the  sea  against  the  sky  began  to  look  irregular 
and  blotted,  a  little  lumpy  here  and  there,  and  as  he 
looked  this  lumpiness  grew  and  rose  higher. 

He  turned  as  the  step  of  an  officer  sounded  close 
to  him. 

"  That's  land,  I  suppose?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  father;  we  shall  be  in  by  half-past  five. 
.  .  .  Beg  your  pardon,  father,  are  you  staying 
long?" 

Monsignor  shook  his  head. 

"  That  depends  on  a  hundred  things,"  he  said. 

"  Curious  idea  this  colony ;  but  I  dare  say  it's 
best." 

Monsignor  smiled  and  said  nothing. 

Interiorly  his  heart  had  been  sinking  steadily  dur- 
ing the  journey.  He  had  mixed  freely  with  the 
emigrants,  and  had  done  his  best  to  make  friends; 


334  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

yet  there  was  something  not  only  in  their  attitude 
to  him — for  though  they  were  respectful  enough, 
they  wxre  absolutely  impervious  to  any  advances, 
seeming  to  regard  him  as  independent  but  rather 
timid  children  might  look  upon  a  strange  school- 
master —  but  in  their  whole  atmosphere  and  outlook 
that  was  a  very  depressing  change  from  the  curious, 
impassive,  but  alert  and  confident  air  to  which  he 
had  grown  accustomed  among  the  priests  and  peo- 
ple with  whom  he  mixed.  The  one  thing  that 
seemed  to  interest  them  was  to  discuss  methods  of 
government  and  the  internal  politics  of  their  future 
life  in  Massachusetts.  They  asked  a  few  questions 
about  crops  and  soil ;  he  even  heard  one  group  in  ani- 
mated conversation  on  the  subject  of  schools,  but 
the  talk  dropped  as  soon  as  he  attempted  to  join  in 
it.     They  all  talked  English,  too,  he  noticed. 

Yet  though  the  atmosphere  seemed  to  him  very 
ungenial,  it  appeared  to  him  not  altogether  new; 
there  appeared,  somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  mind, 
to  be  even  an  element  of  sympathy.  He  felt  almost 
like  one  who,  having  climbed  out  of  a  pit  to  the 
fresh  air,  looks  back  at  others  who  not  only  live  in 
the  pit,  but  are  content  to  live  there. 

For  the  world  in  which  he  had  now  consciously 
lived  for  the  last  twelve  months  was,  in  spite  of  the 
sharp  rigidity  and  certitude  an  inexorable  logic  from 
which  he  shrank,  undoubtedly  a  place  of  large  hori- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  335 

zons.  In  fact  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  no  hori- 
zons. On  all  sides  there  stretched  out  illimitable 
space,  for  eternity  (with  its  corollaries)  was  fully  as 
effective  in  it  as  was  time.  Those  with  whom  he 
mixed,  however  little  he  might  share  their  emotions, 
at  any  rate,  talked  as  if  death  was  no  more  than 
an  incident  in  life.  Secretly  he  distrusted  the  re- 
ality of  this  confidence;  but  at  least  it  appeared  to 
be  there.  But  with  these  folks  all  was  different. 
These  frankly  made  their  plans  for  this  world,  and 
this  world  only.  Good  government,  stability,  good 
bodily  health,  equality  in  possessions  and  opportuni- 
ties—  these  were  their  ideas  of  good;  and  better 
government,  greater  stability,  more  perfect  health, 
and  more  uniform  equality  their  ideals. 

So  he  pondered,  over  and  over  again,  trying  to 
understand  why  it  was  that  he  was  at  home  with 
neither  party.  With  his  old  friends  he  felt  himself 
incapable  of  their  certitudes  and  aspirations;  with 
these  new  people,  viewed  for  the  first  time  en  masse, 
he  felt  life  resting  on  him  like  a  stifling  blanket. 
He  told  himself  bitterly  that  he  resembled  the  child's 
Amphibian,  which  could  not  live  on  the  land  and 
died  in  the  water. 

He  watched  mechanically  the  vault  of  heaven 
broaden  and  brighten  with  the  sunrise  behind,  and 
the  waste  beneath  presently  to  show  lines  and 
patches  and  enclosures  as  they  approached  Boston 


336  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

harbor.  And  his  heart  sank  as  each  mile  was 
passed,  and  as  presently  against  the  clear  sky  there 
stood  up  the  roofs  and  domes  and  chimneys  of  the 
Socialistic  Canaan. 

(m). 

It  was  three  or  four  days  before  he  could  again 
form  any  coherent  picture  to  himself  of  what  this 
new  life  would  mean  when  once  it  was  really  under 
way. 

He  was  lodged  in  the  Government  buildings, 
adapted  a  few  years  before  from  the  old  temple  of 
the  Christian  Scientists;  and  each  day  in  the  ro- 
tunda he  sat  hour  after  hour  with  keen- faced  Amer- 
icans, and  the  few  Europeans  who  had  accompanied 
the  emigration  boats  that  now  streamed  in  contin- 
ually. 

He  flung  himself  into  the  dreary  work,  such  as  it 
was,  with  all  his  power ;  for  though  he  had  little  re- 
sponsibility, he  was  there  as  the  accredited  agent  of 
the  English  ecclesiastical  authorities,  and  his  busi- 
ness was  to  show  as  much  alacrity  and  sympathy  as 
possible. 

The  city  was,  indeed,  a  scene  of  incredible  con- 
fusion, and  a  very  strong  force  of  police  was  needed 
to  prevent  open  friction  between  the  belated  and  ag- 
grieved Catholics  for  whom  Boston  would  in  future 
be  impossible  as  a  home,  and  who  not  yet  had  faced 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  337 

the  need  of  migrating,  and  the  new  very  dogmatic 
inhabitants  who  already  regarded  the  city  as  their 
own.  All  legal  arrangements  had,  of  course,  been 
made  before  the  first  emigrants  set  foot  on  the  con- 
tinent; but  the  redistribution  of  the  city,  the  sale  of 
farms,  the  settling  of  intolerable  disputes  between 
various  nationalities  —  aU  these  things,  sifted  al- 
though they  were  through  agents  and  officials,  yet 
came  up  to  the  central  board  in  sufficient  numbers  to 
occupy  the  members  for  a  full  nine  hours  a  day. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  day  that  Monsig- 
nor  went  round  the  city  in  a  car,  partly  to  get  some 
air,  and  partly  to  see  for  himself  how  things  were 
settling  down. 

Of  course,  as  he  told  himself  afterwards,  he 
scarcely  had  a  fair  opportunity  of  judging  how  a 
Socialist  State  would  be  when  the  machinery  was  in 
running  order.  Yet  it  seemed  to  him  that,  making 
all  allowances  for  confusion  and  noise  and  choked 
streets  and  the  rest,  underneath  it  all  was  a  spirit 
strangely  and  drearily  unlike  that  to  which  he  was 
becoming  accustomed  in  Europe.  The  very  faces 
of  the  people  seemed  different. 

He  stopped  for  a  while  in  the  quarter  to  which 
the  English  had  been  assigned  —  that  which  in  old 
Boston  had  been,  he  learned,  the  Italian  quarter. 
Here,  in  the  little  square  where  he  halted,  every- 
thing was  surprisingly  in  order.     The  open  space, 


23^  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

paved  with  concrete,  was  unoccupied  by  any  signs 
of  moving  in;  the  houses  were  trim  and  neat,  new 
painted  for  the  most  part ;  and  people  seemed  to  be 
going  about  their  business  with  an  air  of  quiet  or- 
derliness. Certainly  American  arrangements,  he 
thought,  were  marvelously  efficient,  enabling  as  they 
did  some  fifteen  hundred  persons  to  settle  down  into 
new  houses  within  the  space  of  four  days.  (He 
had  learned  something,  while  he  sat  on  the  central 
board,  of  the  elaborate  system  of  tickets  and  offi- 
cials and  inquiry  officers  by  which  such  miraculous 
swiftness  had  been  made  possible.) 

Here  at  least  they  were  an  orderly  population, 
going  in  and  out  of  the  houses,  visiting  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  square  the  vast  general  store  that  had 
been  provided  beforehand,  presenting  their  pledges, 
which,  at  any  rate  for  the  present,  were  to  take  the 
place  of  the  European  money  that  the  emigrants  had 
brought  with  them. 

He  halted  the  car  here,  and  leaning  forward,  be- 
gan to  look  round  him  carefully. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  him  was  a  negative 
emotion  —  a  sense  that  something  external  was  lack- 
ing.    He  presently  perceived  what  this  was. 

In  European  towns,  one  of  the  details  to  which 
he  had  become  by  now  altogether  accustomed  was 
the  presence,  in  every  street  or  square  at  which  he 
looked,  of  some  emblem  or  statue  or  picture  of  a 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  339 

religious  nature.  Here  there  was  nothing.  The 
straight  pavements  ran  round  the  square;  the 
straight  houses  rose  from  them,  straight-windowed 
and  straight-doored.  All  was  admirably  sanitary 
and  clean  and  wholesome.  He  could  see  through 
the  windows  of  the  house  opposite  which  his  car 
was  drawn  up  the  clean  walls  within,  the  decent 
furniture,  and  the  rest.  But  there  was  absolutely 
nothing  to  give  a  hint  of  anything  beyond  bodily 
health  and  sanitation  and  decency.  In  London,  or 
Lourdes,  or  Rome  there  would  at  least  have  been  a 
reminder  —  to  put  it  very  mildly  —  of  other  possi- 
bilities than  these :  of  a  Heavenly  Mother,  a  Suffer- 
ing Man ;  a  hint  that  solid  animal  health  was  not  the 
only  conceivable  ideal.  It  was  a  tiny  detail;  he 
blamed  himself  for  noticing  it.  He  reminded  him- 
self that  here,  at  any  rate,  was  real  liberty  as  he  had 
conceived  it. 

He  began  to  scrutinize  the  faces  of  the  passers- 
by,  sheltering  himself  behind  his  elbow  that  he  might 
not  be  noticed  —  appearing  as  if  he  were  waiting 
for  some  one.  Women  passed  by,  strong- faced  and 
business-like;  men  came  up  and  passed,  talking  in 
twos  or  threes.  He  even  watched  for  some  while 
a  couple  of  children  who  sat  gravely  together  on  a 
doorstep.  (That  reminded  him  of  the  meeting  of 
to-morrow,  when  certain  educational  matters  had 
to  be  finally  decided ;  he  remembered  the  proposed 


340  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

curriculum,  sketched  out  in  some  papers  that  he 
had  to  study  this  evening  —  an  exceedingly  sound 
and  useful  ciirriculmn,  calculated  to  make  the  pupils 
satisfactorily  informed  persons.) 

Again  and  again  he  told  himself  that  it  was  fancy 
that  made  him  see  in  the  faces  of  these  people  — 
people,  it  must  be  remembered,  who  were  not  com- 
monplace, but  rather  enthusiasts  for  their  cause, 
since  they  preferred  exile  to  a  life  under  the  Chris- 
tian system  —  that  made  him  see  a  kind  of  blank- 
ness  and  heaviness  corresponding  to  that  which  the 
aspect  of  their  streets  presented.  Many  of  the  faces 
were  intellectual,  especially  of  the  men  —  there  was 
no  doubt  of  that;  and  all  were  wholesome-looking 
and  healthy,  just  as  this  little  square  was  sensibly 
built  and  planned,  and  the  houses  soundly  con- 
structed. 

Yet,  as  he  looked  at  them  en  masse,  and  com- 
pared them  with  his  general  memories  of  the  type 
of  face  that  he  saw  in  London  streets,  there  was 
certainly  a  difference.  He  could  conceive  these  peo- 
ple making  speeches,  recording  votes,  discussing 
matters  of  public  interest  with  great  gravity  and  con- 
sideration ;  he  could  conceive  them  distributing  alms 
to  the  needy  after  careful  and  scientific  inquiry,  ad- 
ministering justice;  he  could  imagine  them  even, 
with  an  effort,  inflamed  with  political  passion,  de- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  341 

nouncing,  appealing.  .  .  .  But  It  appeared  to 
him  (to  his  imagination  rather,  as  he  angrily  told 
himself)  that  he  could  not  believe  them  capable  of 
any  absolutely  reckless  crime  or  reckless  act  of  vir- 
tue. They  could  calculate,  they  could  plan,  they 
had  almost  mechanically  perfect  ideas  of  justice; 
they  could  even  love  and  hate  after  their  kind.  But 
it  was  inconceivable  that  their  passion,  either  for 
good  or  evil,  could  wholly  carry  them  away.  In 
one  word,  there  was  no  light  behind  these  faces,  no 
indication  of  an  incomprehensible  power  greater 
than  themselves,  no  ideal  higher  than  that  gener- 
ated by  the  common  sense  of  the  multitude.  In 
short,  they  seemed  to  him  to  have  all  the  impas- 
sivity of  the  Christian  atmosphere,  with  none  of  its 
hidden  fire. 

He  gave  the  signal  presently  for  the  driver  to 
move  on,  and  himself  leaned  back  in  his  seat  with 
closed  eyes.  He  felt  terribly  alone  in  a  terrible 
world.  Was  the  whole  human  race  then  utterly 
without  heart?  Had  civilization  reached  such  a 
pitch  of  perfection  —  one  part  through  supernatural 
forces,  and  the  other  through  human  evolution  — 
that  there  was  no  longer  any  room  for  a  man  with 
feelings  and  emotions  and  an  individuality  of  his 
own?  Yet  he  could  no  longer  conceal  from  him- 
self that  the  other  was  better  than  this  —  that  it  was 


342  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

better  to  be  heartless  through  too  vivid  a  grasp  of 
eternal  realities,  than  through  an  equally  vivid  grasp 
of  earthly  facts. 

As  he  reached  the  door  of  the  great  buildings 
where  he  lodged,  and  climbed  wearily  out,  the  por- 
ter ran  out,  hat  in  hand,  holding  a  little  green  form. 

"  Monsignor,''  he  said,  "  this  arrived  an  hour  ago. 
We  did  not  know  where  you  were." 

He  opened  it  there  and  then.  It  contained  half 
a  dozen  words  in  code.  He  took  it  upstairs  with 
him,  strangely  agitated,  and  there  deciphered  it. 
It  bade  him  leave  everything,  come  instantly  to 
Rome,  and  join  the  Cardinal. 


CHAPTER  III 

(I), 

'nr^HERE  was  dead  silence  on  the  long  staircase 
■"•  of  the  Vatican,  leading  up  to  the  Cardinal  Sec- 
retary's rooms,  as  Monsignor  toiled  up  within  half 
an  hour  of  his  arrival  at  the  stage  outside  the  city. 
A  car  was  in  waiting  for  him  there,  had  whirled 
him  first  to  the  old  palace  where  he  had  stayed 
nine  months  ago  with  Father  Jervis;  and  then,  on 
finding  that  Cardinal  Bellairs  had  been  unexpect- 
edly sent  for  from  the  Vatican,  he  had  gone  on  there 
immediately,  according  to  the  instructions  that  had 
been  left  with  the  majordomo. 

He  knew  all  now ;  wireless  messages  had  streamed 
in  hour  after  hour  during  the  flight  across  the  At- 
lantic. At  Naples,  where  the  volor  had  first  touched 
land,  the  papers  already  mentioned  full  and  exhaust- 
ive accounts  of  the  outbreak,  with  the  latest  re- 
ports; and  by  the  time  that  he  reached  Rome  he 
was  as  well  informed  of  the  real  facts  of  the  case 
as  were  any  who  were  not  in  the  inner  circle  of  those 
who  knew. 

343 


344  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

The  Swiss  guard  presented  his  fantastic  halberd, 
as  he  passed  in,  panting  after  his  climb;  a  man  in 
scarlet  livery  took  his  hat  and  cloak;  another  pre- 
ceded him  through  the  first  anteroom,  where  an 
ecclesiastic  received  him;  and  with  this  priest  he 
passed  on  through  the  second  and  third  rooms  up 
to  the  door  of  the  inner  chamber.  The  priest  pushed 
the  door  open  for  him  and  he  went  in  alone;  the 
door  closed  noiselessly  behind  him.  The  room  was 
the  same  as  that  which  he  remembered,  all  gold  and 
red  damask,  lighted  from  the  roof,  with  the  great 
brass-inlaid  writing  table  at  the  farther  end,  and  the 
broad  settee  against  the  right-hand  wall,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  in  his  apprehensiveness  that  the  sol- 
emnity was  greater  and  the  hushed  silence  even 
deeper.  Two  figures  sat  side  by  side  on  the  settee, 
each  in  the  scarlet  ferraiuola  of  ceremony.  One, 
Cardinal  Bellairs,  looked  up  at  him  and  nodded, 
even  smiling  a  little;  the  other  stood  up  and  bowed 
slightly,  before  extending  his  hand  to  be  kissed. 
This  second  figure  was  a  great  personality  —  Italian 
by  birth,  an  extraordinary  linguist,  a  very  largely 
made  man,  both  stout  and  tall,  with  a  head  of  thick 
and  perfectly  white  hair.  He  had  been  a  "  rapa- 
bile  "  at  the  last  election ;  and,  it  was  thought,  was 
certain  of  the  papacy  some  day,  even  though  it  was 
unusual  that  a  Secretary  of  State  should  succeed. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  345 

He  had  a  large,  well-cut  face,  rather  yellowish  in 
color,  with  very  bright,  half -veiled  black  eyes. 

Monsignor  kissed  the  ring  without  genuflecting, 
as  the  custom  was  in  the  Vatican,  and  sat  down  on 
the  chair  indicated. 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment. 

**  How  much  have  you  heard,  Monsignor?  "  asked 
Cardinal  Bellairs  abruptly. 

"  I  have  heard  that  the  Socialists  have  seized 
Berlin  and  the  Emperor;  that  the  city  is  fortified; 
that  there  have  been  two  massacres;  and  that  the 
Emperor's  life  is  threatened  unless  the  Powers  grant 
all  the  terms  asked  within  .  .  .  within  four 
days  from  now." 

''  Have  you  heard  of  the  death  of  Prince  Otte- 
one?" 

"  No,  your  Eminence." 

"  Prince  Otteone  was  executed  last  night,"  said  the 
Cardinal  simply.  "  He  begged  to  go  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Holy  Father  to  treat  for  terms. 
They  said  they  were  not  there  to  treat,  but  to  grant 
terms.  And  they  say  that  they  will  do  the  same  for 
every  envoy  who  does  not  bring  a  message  of  com- 
plete submission.  That  will  be  known  everywhere 
by  midday." 

Again  there  was  silence.  The  Cardinal  Secre- 
tary glanced  from  one  face  to  the  other,  as  if  hesi- 


346  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

tating.  Monsignor  made  no  attempt  to  speak.  He 
knew  that  was  not  his  business. 

"  Can  you  guess  why  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mon- 
signor ? " 

"  No,  your  Eminence." 

"  I  am  leaving  for  Berlin  myself  to-night.  The 
Holy  Father  kindly  allows  me  to  do  so.  I  wish  to 
leave  some  instructions  about  English  affairs  before 
I  go." 

For  a  moment  the  priest's  mind  was  unable  to 
take  in  all  the  significance  of  this.  The  Cardinal's 
air  was  of  one  who  announces  that  he  is  going  into 
the  country  for  a  few  days.  There  was  not  the 
faintest  sign  even  of  excitement  in  his  manner  or 
voice.  Before  the  priest  could  speak  the  Cardinal 
went  on. 

"  Your  Eminence,  I  have  told  you  what  confi- 
dence I  rest  in  Monsignor  Masterman.  He  has  all 
the  affairs  of  the  English  Church  in  his  hands.  And 
I  desire  that,  if  possible,  he  should  be  appointed 
Vicar-Capitular  in  the  event  of  my  death." 

The  Secretary  of  State  bowed. 

"  I  am  sure  — "  he  began. 

"  Your  Eminence,"  cried  the  priest  suddenly,  "  it's 
impossible     .     .     .     it's  impossible." 

The  Englishman  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  It  is  what  I  wish,"  he  said. 

Monsignor  collected  himself  with  a  violent  effort. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  347 

He  could  not,  even  afterwards,  trace  the  exact  proc- 
ess by  which  he  had  arrived  so  swiftly  at  his  de- 
termination. He  supposed  it  was  partly  the  drama 
of  the  situation  —  the  sense  that  big  demands  were 
in  the  air;  partly  nervous  excitement;  partly  a  cer- 
tain distaste  with  life  that  was  growing  on  him;  but 
chiefly  and  foremost  a  passionate  and  devoted  af- 
fection for  his  chief,  which  he  had  never  till  this 
instant  suspected  in  himself.  He  only  perceived, 
as  clearly  as  in  a  vision,  that  this  gallant  old  man 
must  not  be  allowed  to  go  alone,  and  that  he  —  he 
who  had  criticized  and  rebelled  against  the  brutality 
of  the  world  —  must  go  with  him. 

*'  Your  Eminence,"  he  said,  "  it  is  impossible,  be- 
cause I  must  come  with  you  to  Berlin." 

The  Cardinal  smiled  and  lifted  his  hand,  as  if  to 
an  impetuous  child. 

"  My  dear  fellow  — " 

Monsignor  turned  to  the  other.  He  felt  cool  and 
positive,  as  if  a  breeze  had  fanned  away  his  excite- 
ment. 

"  You  understand,  your  Eminence,  do  you  not  ? 

It  is  impossible  that  the  Cardinal  should  go  alone. 

I  am  his  secretary.     I  can  arrange  everything  with 

.     .     .     with   the   Rector  of  the   English   College 

here,  if  there  is  no  one  else.     That  is  right,  is  it  not, 

your  Eminence?  " 

The  Italian  hesitated. 
23 


348  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  Prince  Otteone  went  alone  — "  he  began. 

"  Exactly.  And  there  were  no  witnesses.  That 
must  not  happen  again." 

There  was  an  obvious  answer,  but  no  one  made 
it.  Cardinal  Bellairs  stood  up,  lifting  himself  with 
his  stick. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I 
understand  why  you  make  the  offer.  But  it  is  im- 
possible. Monsignor,  will  you  talk  with  His  Emi- 
nence a  little?  There  are  one  or  two  things  he 
wishes  to  tell  you.  I  have  to  see  the  Holy  Father, 
but  I  will  be  with  you  again  soon." 

The  priest  stood  up,  too. 

"  I  must  come  with  you  to  His  Holiness,"  he  said. 
"  I  will  abide  by  his  decision." 

The  other  shook  his  head,  again  smiling  almost 
indulgently.  Monsignor  turned  swiftly  to  the  Ital- 
ian. 

"  Your  Eminence,"  he  said,  "  will  you  get  this 
favor  for  me?  I  must  see  the  Holy  Father  after 
Cardinal  Bellairs  has  seen  him,  since  I  may  not  go 
with  him." 

The  English  Cardinal  turned  with  a  little  abrupt 
movement  and  stood  looking  at  him.  There  was  a 
silence. 

"  Well  —  come,"  he  said. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  349 

The  contrast  between  these  two  great  Princes  of 
the  Church  and  their  Lord  and  Master  struck  Mon- 
signor  very  strongly,  in  spite  of  his  excitement,  as 
he  followed  his  chief  into  the  Pope's  room,  and 
saw  an  almost  startlingly  commonplace  man,  of  mid- 
dle size,  rise  up  from  the  table  at  which  he  was 
writing. 

He  was  a  Frenchman,  Monsignor  knew,  and  not 
an  exceptional  Frenchman.  There  was  nothing 
sensational  or  even  impressive  about  his  appear- 
ance, except  his  white  dress  and  insignia ;  and  even 
these,  upon  him,  seemed  somehow  rather  tame  and 
ordinary.  His  voice,  when  he  spoke  presently,  was 
of  an  ordinary  kind  of  pitch,  and  his  speaking  rather 
rapid;  his  eyes  were  a  commonplace  gray,  his  nose 
a  little  fleshy,  and  his  mouth  completely  undistin- 
guished. He  was,  in  short,  completely  unlike  the 
Pope  of  fiction  and  imagination ;  there  was  nothing 
of  the  Pontiff  about  him  in  his  manner.  He  might 
have  been  a  clean-shaven  business  man  of  average 
ability,  who  had  chosen  to  dress  himself  up  in  a 
white  cassock  and  to  sit  in  an  enormous  room  fur- 
nished in  crimson  damask  and  gold,  with  chande- 
liers, at  a  rather  inconvenient  writing-desk.  Even  at 
this  dramatic  moment  Monsignor  found  himself 
wondering  how  in  the  world  this  man  had  risen  to 


350  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  highest  office  on  earth.  (He  had  been  the  son 
of  a  postmaster  in  Tours,  the  priest  remembered.) 

The  Pope  murmured  an  unintelligible  greeting  as 
the  two,  after  kissing  his  ring,  sat  down  beside  the 
writing-table. 

"  So  you  have  come  to  take  your  leave,  your 
Eminence  ?  "  he  began.  "  We  should  all  be  very 
grateful  for  your  willingness  to  go.  God  will  re- 
ward you." 

"  Plainly  it  must  be  a  Cardinal  this  time.  Holy 
Father,"  said  the  Englishman,  smiling.  "  We  have 
still  four  days.  And  one  of  my  nationality  has 
affinity  with  the  Germans,  and  yet  is  not  one  of 
them,  as  I  remarked  to  your  Holiness  last  night. 
Besides,  I  am  getting  an  old  man." 

There  was  nothing  whatever  of  the  gallant  poseur 
in  his  manner,  whatever  were  the  words.  Mon- 
signor  perceived  that  somehow  or  another  these  per- 
sons stood  in  an  attitude  towards  death  that  was  be- 
yond his  comprehension  altogether.  They  spoke  of 
it  lightly  and  genially. 

"  Eh,  well,"  said  the  Pope,  "  it  is  decided  so. 
You  go  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Holy  Father,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
me  to  arrange  my  affairs  first.  I  have  chartered  a 
private  volor.  One  of  my  own  servants  has  volun- 
teered to  drive  it.  But  there  is  one  more  matter 
before  I  receive  your  Holiness'  instructions.     This 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  351 

priest  here,  my  secretary,  Monsignor  Masterman, 
wishes  to  come  with  me.  I  ask  your  Holiness  to 
forbid  that.  I  wish  him  to  be  Vicar-Capitular  of 
my  diocese,  if  possible,  in  the  event  of  my  death." 

The  Pope  glanced  across  at  the  priest. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  go,  Monsignor  ?  Do  you 
understand  to  what  you  are  going?  " 

"  Holy  Father,  I  understand  everything.  I  wish 
to  go  because  it  is  not  right  that  the  Cardinal  should 
go  alone.  Let  there  be  a  witness  this  time.  The 
Rector  of  the  English  College  here  can  receive  all 
necessary  instructions  from  His  Eminence  and  my- 
self." 

"And  you,  Eminence?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  him  to  go  because  there  is  no 
need  why  two  should  go,  Holiness.  One  can  carry 
the  message  as  well  as  two." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  The  Pope  be- 
gan to  play  with  a  pen  that  lay  before  him.  Then 
Monsignor  burst  out  again. 

"  Holy  Father,  I  beg  of  you  to  let  me  go.  I  am 
afraid  of  death ;  that  is  one  reason  why  I  should  go. 
I  am  crippled  mentally;  my  memory  left  me  a  few 
months  ago;  it  may  leave  me  again,  and  this  time 
helpless  and  useless.  And  it  is  possible  that  I  may 
be  of  some  service.     Two  are  better  than  one." 

For  a  moment  the  Pope  said  nothing.  He  had 
glanced  up  curiously  as  the  priest  had  said  that  he 


352  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

was  "  afraid  of  death."     Then  he  had  looked  down 
again,  his  Hps  twitching  sHghtly. 

"  Eh,  well,"  he  said.  ''  You  shall  go  if  you  .wish 
it." 

There  was  only  a  very  small  group  of  people  col- 
lected to  see  the  second  envoy  leave  for  Berlin.  The 
hour  and  place  of  starting  had  been  kept  secret,  on 
purpose  to  avoid  a  crowd ;  and  beyond  three  or  four 
from  the  English  College,  with  half  a  dozen  private 
friends  of  the  Cardinal,  a  few  servants,  and  perhaps 
a  dozen  passers-by  who  had  collected  below  in  curi- 
osity at  seeing  a  racing-volor  attached  to  one  of  the 
disused  flying  stages  on  the  hill  behind  the  Vatican 
' —  no  one  else,  in  the  crowds  that  swarmed  now  in 
the  streets  and  squares  of  Rome,  was  even  certain 
that  an  envoy  was  going,  still  less  of  his  identity. 

Monsignor  found  himself,  ten  minutes  before  the 
start,  standing  alone  on  the  alighting-stage,  while 
the  Cardinal  still  talked  below. 

As  he  stood  there,  now  looking  out  over  the  city, 
where  beneath  the  still  luminous  sky  the  lights  were 
already  beginning  to  kindle,  and  where  in  one  or 
two  of  the  larger  squares  he  could  make  out  the 
great  crowds  moving  to  and  fro  —  now  staring  at 
the  long  and  polished  sides  of  the  racing  boat  that 
swayed  light  as  a  flower  with  the  buoyancy  of  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  353 

inrushing  gas  —  as  he  saw  all  these  things  with  his 
outward  eyes,  he  was  trying  to  understand  some- 
thing of  the  new  impulses  and  thoughts  that  surged 
through  him.     He  could  have  given  little  or  no  ac- 
count of  the  reasons  why  he  was  here;  of  his  hopes 
or    fears   or    expectations.     He   was   as    one   who 
watches  on  a  sheet  shadow  figures  whirl  past  con- 
fusedly, catching  a  glimpse  here  of  a  face  or  body, 
now  of  a  fragmentary  movement,  that  appeared  to 
have  some  meaning  —  yet  grasping  nothing  of  the 
intention  or  plan  of  the  whole.     Or,  even  better,  he 
was  as  one  caught  in  a  mill-race,  tossed  along  and 
battered,  yet  feeling  nothing  acutely,  curious  indeed 
as  to  what  the  end  would  be,  and  why  it  had  had 
a  beginning,  yet  fundamentally  unconcerned.     The 
thing  was  so:  there  was  no  more  to  be  said.     He 
knew  that  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  be  here, 
about  to  start  for  almost  certain  death,  as  that  his 
soul  should  be  inhabiting  his  body. 

But  even  all  these  recent  happenings  had  not  as 
yet  illuminated  him  in  the  slightest  as  to  the  real 
character  of  the  world  that  he  found  so  bewildering. 
He  felt,  vaguely,  that  he  ought  to  have  by  now  all 
the  pieces  of  the  puzzle,  but  he  was  still  as  far  as 
ever  from  being  able  to  fit  them  into  a  coherent 
whole.  He  just  perceived  this  —  and  no  more  — 
that  the  extraordinary  tranquillity  of  these  Catholics 
in  the  presence  of  death  was  a  real  contribution  to 


354  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  problem  —  as  much  as  the  dull  earthliness  of 
the  Socialist  colony  in  America.  It  was  not  merely 
Dom  Adrian  in  particular  who  had  been  willing  to 
die  without  perturbation  or  protest;  his  judges  and 
accusers  seemed  just  as  ready  when  their  turn  came. 
And  he  —  he  who  had  cried  out  at  Christian  brutal- 
ity, who  had  judged  the  world's  system  by  his  own 
and  found  it  wanting  —  he  feared  death ;  although, 
so  far  his  fear  had  not  deterred  him  from  facing  it. 

He  took  his  place  in  the  narrow  cabin  in  the  same 
mood,  following  the  Cardinal  in  after  the  last  good- 
byes had  been  said.  It  was  a  tiny  place,  fitted  with 
a  single  padded  seat  on  either  side  covered  with 
linen  and  provided  with  pillows;  a  narrow  table 
ran  up  the  center;  and  strong  narrow  windows 
looked  directly  from  the  sides  of  the  boat.  A  stern 
platform,  railed  in  and  provided  with  sliding  glass 
shutters,  gave  room  to  take  a  few  steps  of  exercise; 
but  the  front  of  the  boat  was  entirely  occupied  with 
the  driver's  arrangements.  It  was  a  comparatively 
new  type  of  boat,  he  learned  from  some  one  with 
whom  he  had  talked  just  now,  used  solely  for  rac- 
ing purposes;  and  its  speed  was  such  that  they 
would  find  themselves  in  Berlin  before  morning. 

The  stern  door  was  swung  to  by  one  who  leaned 
from  the  stage.  Still  through  the  glass  the  Cardi- 
nal smiled  out  at  his  friends  and  waved  his  hand. 
Then  a  bell  struck,  a  vibration  ran  through  the  boat. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  355 

the  stage  outside  lined  with  faces  suddenly  swayed 
and  then  fell  into  space. 

The  Cardinal  laid  his  hand  on  the  priest's  knee. 

''  Now  let  us  have  a  talk,"  he  said. 

(IV) 

The  air  that  breathed  down  from  the  Alps  was 
beginning  to  cloud  the  windows  of  the  cabin  before 
they  had  finished  talking. 

The  man  who  had  lost  his  memory,  under  the 
tremendous  stress  of  an  emotion  of  which  he  was 
hardly  directly  conscious  at  all  —  the  emotion  gen- 
erated by  the  knowledge  that  every  whistling  mile 
that  fled  past  brought  him  nearer  an  almost  cer- 
tain death  —  had  experienced  a  kind  of  sudden  col- 
lapse of  his  defenses  such  as  he  had  never  contem- 
plated. 

He  had  told  everything  straight  out  to  this  quiet, 
fatherly  man  —  his  terrors,  his  shrinking  from  the 
unfamiliar  atmosphere  of  thought  to  which  he  had 
awakened,  It  seemed,  a  few  months  before,  his  sense 
that  Christianity  had  lost  its  spirit,  and,  above  all, 
the  strange  absence  of  any  definite  religious  emo- 
tion In  himself.  He  found  this  difficult  to  put  Into 
words ;  he  had  hardly  realized  It  even  to  himself. 

The  Cardinal  put  one  question. 

"  And  yet  you  are  facing  death  on  the  under- 
standing that  It  Is  all  true?" 


356  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Very  well,  then.  That  is  faith.  You  need  say 
no  more.     You  have  been  to  confession?" 

"  This  afternoon." 

The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  As  to  the  unreality,  the  feeling  that  the  Church 
is  heartless,  I  think  that  is  natural.  You  had  a 
violent  mental  shock  in  your  illness.  That  means 
that  your  emotions  are  very  sensitive,  almost  to  the 
point  of  morbidness.  Well,  the  heart  of  the  Church 
is  very  deep,  and  you  have  not  found  it  yet.  That 
does  not  greatly  matter.  You  must  keep  your  zvill 
fixed.  That  is  all  that  God  asks.  ...  I  think 
it  is  true  that  the  Church  is  hard,  in  a  certain  sense ; 
or  shall  we  call  it  a  Divine  strength?  It  is  largely 
a  matter  of  words.  She  has  had  that  strength  al- 
ways. Once  it  nerved  her  to  suffer;  now  it  nerves 
her  to  rule.  But  I  think  you  would  find  that  she 
could  suffer  again." 

"  Your  Eminence !  "  cried  the  priest  lamentably, 
"  I  am  beginning  to  see  that.  .  .  .  Yourself. 
.     .     .     Prince  Otteone.     .     .     ." 

The  Cardinal  lifted  his  hand. 

"  Of  myself  we  need  not  speak.  I  am  an  old 
man,  and  I  do  not  expect  to  suffer.  Prince  Otteone 
was  another  matter.  He  was  a  young  mian,  full  of 
life;  and  he  knew  to  what  he  was  going.     Well, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  357 

does  not  his  case  impress  you?  He  went  quite 
cheerfully,  you  know." 

The  priest  was  silent. 

''  What  are  you  thinking  of,  my  son?  " 

The  priest  shivered  a  little. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  Cardinal  again. 

"  It  is  the  Holy  Father,"  burst  out  the  other  im- 
pulsively. "  He  was  terrible :  so  unconcerned,  so 
careless  as  to  who  lived  or  died.     .     .     ." 

He  looked  up  in  an  agony,  and  saw  a  look  almost 
of  amusement  in  the  old  man's  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

'\  Yes,  do  not  be  afraid,"  murmured  the  old  man. 
"  You  think  he  was  unconcerned  ?  Well,  ought  he 
not  to  be?  Is  not  that  what  we  should  expect  of 
the  Vicar  of  Christ?" 

''  Christ  wept." 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  his  Vicar,  too,  has  wept.  I  have 
seen  it.     But  Christ  went  to  death  without  tears." 

"  But  .  .  .  but  this  man  is  not  going,"  cried 
the  priest.  "He  is  sending  others.  If  he  went 
himself  — " 

He  stopped  suddenly;  not  at  a  sound,  but  at  a 
kind  of  mental  vibration  from  the  other.  Up  here 
in  these  heights,  under  the  pressure  of  these 
thoughts,  every  nerve  and  fiber  seemed  stretched  to 
an  amazing  pitch  of  sensitiveness.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  had  never  before  lived  at  such  a  pitch. 


358  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

But  the  other  said  nothing.  Once  his  lips  opened 
but  they  closed  again.  The  priest  said  nothing. 
He  waited. 

''  I  think  no  one  would  expect  the  Holy  Father 
to  go  himself  under  such  circumstances,"  said  the 
Cardinal  gently  and  blandly.  "  Do  you  not  think 
that  it  might  be  harder  for  him  to  remain  ?  " 

Monsignor  felt  a  wave  of  disappointment.  He 
had  expected  a  revelation  of  some  kind,  or  a  vivid 
sentence  that  would  make  all  plain. 

The  old  man  leaned  forward  again  smiling. 

''  Do  not  be  impatient  and  critical,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  enough  that  you  and  I  are  going.  That  should 
occupy  us.  Come,  let  us  look  through  these  papers 
again." 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  they  swept  down  into 
the  French  plains.  The  glass  cleared  again  as  they 
reached  the  warmer  levels,  and  Monsignor  became 
conscious  of  an  overpowering  weariness.  He 
yawned  uncontrollably  once  or  twice.  His  com- 
panion laughed. 

"  Lie  down  a  little,  Monsignor.  You  have  had  a 
hard  day  of  it.  I  must  have  some  sleep,  too.  We 
must  be  as  fresh  as  we  can  for  our  interview." 

Monsignor  said  nothing.  He  stepped  across  to 
the  other  couch,  and  slipped  off  his  shoes,  took  off 
his  cincture,  and  lay  down  without  a  word.  Almost 
before  he  had  finished  wondering  at  the  marvelous 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  359 

steadiness  of  this  flying  arrow  of  a  ship,  he  had  sunk 
down  into  complete  unconsciousness. 

(V) 

He  awoke  with  a  start,  coming  up,  as  is  common 
after  the  deep  sleep  of  exhaustion,  into  a  state  in 
which,  although  the  senses  are  awake,  the  intellect 
is  still  in  a  kind  of  paralysis  of  slumber.  He  threw 
his  feet  off  the  couch  and  sat  up,  staring  about  him. 

The  first  thing  which  he  noticed  was  that  the 
cabin  was  full  of  a  pale  morning  light,  cold  and 
cheerless,  although  the  shaded  lights  still  burned  in 
the  roof.  Then  he  saw  that  the  Cardinal  was  sit- 
ting at  the  farther  end  of  the  opposite  couch,  look- 
ing intently  out ;  that  one  of  the  glass  shutters  was 
slid  back,  and  that  a  cold,  foggy  air  was  visibly 
pouring  in  past  the  old  man's  head.  Then  he  saw 
the  head  of  the  driver  through  the  glass  panes  in 
the  door;  his  hand  rested  on  the  grip  of  some  ap- 
paratus connected  with  the  steering,  he  believed. 

But  beyond  this  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
through  the  windows  opposite,  of  which  the  cur- 
tains had  been  drawn  back;  he  saw  nothing  but 
white  driving  mist.  He  tore  back  the  curtains  be- 
hind him,  and  there  also  was  the  mist.  It  was  plain 
then  that  they  were  not  at  rest  at  any  stage;  and 
yet  the  slight  humming  vibration,  of  which  he  had 
been  conscious  before  he  fell  asleep,  and  even  dur- 


36o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

ing  one  or  two  moments  of  semi-wake  fulness  during 
the  night,  this  had  ceased.  The  car  hung  here,  Hke 
a  floating  balloon,  motionless,  purposeless  —  far  up 
out  of  sight  of  land,  and  an  absolute  silence  hung 
round  it. 

He  moved  a  little  as  these  things  began  to  arrange 
themselves  in  his  mind,  and  at  the  movement  the 
Cardinal  turned  round.  He  looked  old  and  worn  in 
this  chilly  light,  and  his  unshaven  chin  sparkled  like 
frost.  But  he  spoke  in  his  ordinary  voice,  without 
any  sign  of  discomposure. 

"  So  you  are  awake,  Monsignor  ?  I  thought  I 
would  let  you  have  your  sleep  out." 

"  What  has  happened  ?     Where  are  we  ?  *' 

"  We  arrived  half  an  hour  ago.  They  signaled 
to  us  to  remain  where  we  were  until  they  came  up." 

"  We  have  arrived !  " 

*'  Certainly.  We  passed  the  first  Berlin  signaling 
light  nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour  ago.  We 
slowed  down  after  that,  of  course." 

The  priest  turned  his  head  suddenly  and  made  a 
movement  with  it  downwards.  The  Cardinal  leaned 
forward  again  and  peered  through  the  open  shutter. 

*'  I  think  they  are  coming  up  at  last,"  he  said, 
drawing  his  head  back.  "  Hush !  Listen,  Mon- 
signor." 

The  priest  listened  with  all  his  might.  At  first 
he  heard  nothing  except  the  faint  whistle  of  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  361 

wind  somewhere  in  the  roof.  Then  he  heard  three 
or  four  metallic  noises,  as  if  from  the  depths  of  a 
bottomless  pit,  faint  and  minute;  and  then,  quite 
distinctly,  three  strokes  of  a  bell. 

The  Cardinal  nodded. 

"  They  are  starting,"  he  said.  "  They  have  kept 
us  long  enough." 

He  slipped  along  the  seat  to  where  his  scarlet 
cincture  and  cap  lay,  and  began  to  put  these  on. 

Monsignor  sprang  across  and  lifted  down  the 
great  Roman  cloak  from  its  peg. 

"  You  had  better  get  ready  yourself,"  said  the 
Cardinal.     "  They  will  be  here  in  a  moment." 

As  the  priest  slipped  on  his  second  shoe,  a  sound 
suddenly  stopped  him  dead  for  an  instant.  It  was 
the  sound  of  voices  talking  somewhere  beneath  in 
the  fog.  Then  he  finished,  and  stood  up,  just  as 
there  slid  cautiously  upwards,  like  a  whale  coming 
up  to  breathe,  past  the  window  by  which  the  Cardi- 
nal was  now  standing  cloaked  and  hatted,  first  a 
shining  roof,  then  a  row  of  little  ventilators,  and 
finally  a  line  of  windows  against  which  a  dozen 
faces  were  pressed.  He  saw  them  begin  to  stir  as 
the  scarlet  of  the  Cardinal  met  their  eyes. 

"  We  can  sit  down  again,"  said  the  old  man,  smil- 
ing.    "  The  rest  is  a  matter  for  the  engineers." 

It  seemed  strange  afterwards  to  the  priest  how 
little  real  or  active  terror  he   felt.     He  was  con- 


362  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

scious  of  a  certain  sickly  sensation,  and  of  a  sourish 
taste  on  his  Hps,  as  he  Hcked  them  from  time  to 
time;  but  scarcely  more  than  this,  except  perhaps 
of  a  sudden  shivering  spasm  that  shook  him  once 
or  twice  as  the  fog-laden  breeze  poured  in  upon 
him. 

He  sat  there  watching  through  the  windows  in 
a  kind  of  impassivity,  as  much  as  he  could  see  of 
the  method  by  which  the  racing-boat  was  attached 
by  long,  rigid  rods  to  the  steady  floating  raft  that 
had  risen  from  beneath.  (He  was  even  interested 
to  observe  that  these  rigid  rods  were  of  telescopic 
design,  and  were  elongated  from  their  own  in- 
teriors. One  of  them  pushed  forward  once  to  within 
a  foot  of  the  windows;  then  the  tapering  end 
seemed  to  fall  apart  into  two  hooked  ends,  singu- 
larly like  a  lean  finger  and  thumb  with  roughened 
surfaces.  This,  in  its  turn,  rose  out  of  sight,  and 
he  heard  it  slide  along  the  roof  overhead,  till  it 
caught  some  projection,  and  there  clenched.) 

So  the  process  went  on,  slowly  and  deliberately. 
The  driver  still  remained  at  his  post,  answering 
once  or  twice  questions  put  to  him  from  some  in- 
visible person  outside.  The  Cardinal  still  sat,  mo- 
tionless and  silent,  on  the  opposite  seat.  Then, 
after  perhaps  ten  minutes'  delay,  a  sensation  of  de- 
scending became  perceptible. 

His  fear,  such  as  it  was,  took  a  new  form,  as 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  363 

presently  through  the  thinning  fog  he  became  aware 
that  the  earth  was  approaching.  The  first  clear 
indication  of  this  was  the  sound  of  a  clock  strik- 
ing. He  counted  the  strokes  carefully,  and  im- 
mediately forgot  what  it  was  that  he  had  counted. 
Then,  as  he  watched  with  straining  eyes  for  build- 
ings or  towers  to  make  their  appearance,  the  move- 
ment stopped;  there  was  a  faint  jarring  sensation, 
then  the  sound  of  tramping  feet,  then  a  heavy 
shock.     He  had   forgotten  that  stages  were  used. 

The  Cardinal  stood  up. 

"  Come,  Monsignor,"  he  said,  and  gave  his  hand 
to  him. 

So  the  two  stood  a  moment  longer.  Then  the 
footsteps  sounded  on  the  boat ;  a  shadow  fell  across 
the  glass  of  the  stern-door.  The  door  opened,  let- 
ting in  a  rush  of  foggy  air,  and  two  men  in  uni- 
form came  swiftly  inside. 

"Your  name  and  your  business,  gentlemen," 
said  the  foremost  shortly,  in  excellent  English. 

"  I  am  come  on  behalf  of  the  Holy  Father,"  said 
the  Cardinal  steadily.  "My  name  is  Cardinal 
Bellairs.  This  is  my  secretary,  Monsignor  Master- 
man.     He  is  not  an  envoy." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  man.  "  That  is  all  in  order. 
You  were  seen  by  our  guard-boats.  Will  you  step 
this  way  ?  " 

A  bridge  had  been  thrown  across  from  the  raft 

24 


364  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

to  the  racing-boat,  and  the  latter  was  now  attached 
to  an  immense  stage  whose  sides  ran  down  into  the 
fog.  The  stage-platform  was  crowded  with  men, 
some  in  official  uniform,  some  in  blouses;  but  a 
way  was  kept  clear  for  the  visitors,  and  they  passed 
across  without  any  actual  show  of  hostility  or  re- 
sentment. Monsignor  noticed  but  one  detail  — 
that  no  salutation  of  any  kind  was  given;  and  as 
they  took  their  seats  in  the  lift,  with  the  two  offi- 
cials close  beside  them,  he  heard  guttural  conversa- 
tion break  out,  and,  he  thought,  one  loud  laugh. 
The  doors  were  latched,  and  the  lift  dropped. 

The  speed  was  so  great  that  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  see  anything  of  the  town  into  which 
they  descended,  even  had  the  fog  been  absent.  As 
it  was,  Monsignor  saw  nothing  except  the  sudden 
darkening  of  the  air  round  them.  Then  as  the 
speed  slackened  he  saw  the  side  of  some  great  build- 
ing not  twenty  yards  away.  Then  the  lift  stopped 
and  the  doors  were  opened. 

A  group  of  men  stood  there,  with  something  of 
an  expectant  air  in  their  stolid  faces.  All  these 
were  in  uniform  of  some  description;  one  stood 
a  little  in  advance  of  the  rest  and  held  a  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"Cardinal  Bellairs?"  he  said,  also  in  English. 
''And  Monsignor  Masterman?" 

The  Cardinal  bowed. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  365 

"We  had  information  from  Rome  last  night.  I 
understand  you  have  a  communication  from  the 
Powers?" 

"  From  the  Holy  Father,  whom  the  European 
Powers  have  appointed  to  represent  them." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  said  the  man  brusquely. 
"  The  Council  is  waiting  to  receive  you.  Kindly 
follow  me." 

The  official  who  had  brought  them  down  stepped 
forward. 

"  I  understand,  sir,  that  this  gentleman  "  (he  in- 
dicated the  priest)  "  is  not  an  envoy." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  It  is." 

"  Very  good.  I  only  have  authority  to  introduce 
the  envoy.  Monsignor  Masterman  will  be  good 
enough  to  follow  the  other  gentleman.  Your  Emi- 
nence, will  you  com.e  with  me  ?  " 

(VI) 

On  looking  back  afterwards  on  the  whole  ex- 
perience, that  which  stood  out  as  most  shocking  in 
it  all,  to  the  priest's  mind,  was  the  abominable 
speed  with  which  the  tragedy  was  accomplished. 
It  was  merciful,  perhaps,  that  it  was  so,  for  even 
the  half -hour  or  so  which  elapsed  before  the  priest 
had  any  more  news  dragged  itself  to  an  intolerable 
length. 


266  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  little  furnished  room 
—  some  kind  of  parlor,  he  understood,  attached 
to  a  government  building  seized  by  the  revolution- 
aries, guarded,  he  knew,  by  a  couple  of  men  in  the 
passage,  whose  voices  he  occasionally  heard  —  in  a 
sort  of  dull  agony,  far  more  torturing  than  positive 
objective  fear. 

He  tried  to  comfort  himself  by  retelling  to  him- 
self the  story  of  the  last  few  days ;  reminding  him- 
self how,  after  the  first  outburst,  when  the  police 
had  been  shot  down  by  those  new  weapons  of  which 
he  understood  nothing,  and  the  palace  had  been 
taken,  and  the  city  reduced  to  a  state  of  defense- 
less terror  —  the  revolutionaries  had  sternly  re- 
pressed the  second  attempted  massacre  in  a  man- 
ner not  unworthy  of  real  civilization. 

A  great  deal  of  the  whole  story  was  unintelligi- 
ble to  him.  He  just  knew  the  outlines.  First,  it 
was  obvious  that  the  revolution  had  been  planned 
in  all  its  details  months  before.  There  had  been, 
soon  after  the  Emperor's  conversion,  a  great  ac- 
cess of  other  converts,  accompanied  by  a  dispersal 
to  other  countries,  notably  America,  of  innumerable 
people  of  the  lower  classes  who  were  known  as  So- 
cialists. All  this  was  looked  upon  by  the  authori- 
ties as  natural,  and  as  actually  reassuring.  There 
had  been  a  few  protests  against  the  new  proposals 
with  regard  to  legislation ;  but  not  enough  to  rouse 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  367 

any  suspicion  that  violence  would  be  attempted. 
Finally,  when  the  organized  emigration  was  be- 
ginning, and  even  the  most  pessimistic  politicians 
were  beginning  to  regard  the  situation  as  saved, 
without  the  slightest  warning  the  blow  had  been 
struck,  obviously  by  the  directions  of  an  interna- 
tional council  whose  very  existence  had  not  been  sus- 
pected. 

As  to  the  details  of  the  revolution  itself  he  was 
even  more  vague,  for  the  understanding  of  it  de- 
pended on  an  acquaintance  with  the  internal  ar- 
rangements of  Berlin,  by  which  a  kind  of  interior 
citadel,  not  outwardly  fortified  in  any  way,  yet 
held  in  its  compass  all  those  immense  "  pov/er-sta- 
tions  "  by  which,  in  the  present  day,  every  town 
was  defended.  (He  did  not  know  exactly  what 
these  "  power-stations  "  were,  beyond  the  fact  that 
they  were  the  lineal  successors  of  the  old  gun- 
forts,  and  controlled  an  immense  number  of  mines 
both  within  the  city  and  without  it,  as  well  as  some 
kind  of  "  electric  ray,"  which  was  the  modern  sub- 
stitute for  cannon.)  Well,  it  was  this  "citadel," 
including  the  Emperor's  palace,  that  had  been  sud- 
denly seized  by  the  revolutionaries,  obviously  by 
the  aid  of  treachery.  And  the  thing  was  done.  It 
was  impossible  for  the  other  Powers,  or  even  for  the 
German  air-navy  itself,  to  wipe  the  whole  place  out 
of  existence,  since  it  was  known  that  the  Emperor 


368  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

himself  was  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels.  (It  was 
a  bald  story,  as  he  had  heard  it;  yet  he  reflected 
that  great  coups  usually  were  extremely  and  unex- 
pectedly simple.) 

Finally,  there  were  the  terms  demanded  —  terms 
which  the  Powers  were  unanimous  in  rejecting, 
since  they  included  the  formal  disestablishment  of 
the  Church  throughout  Europe  and  the  complete 
liberty  of  the  Press,  with  guarantees  that  these 
should  continue.  The  alternative  to  the  acceptance 
of  these  terms  was  the  execution  of  the  Emperor 
and  formal  war  declared  upon  Europe  —  a  war 
which,  of  course,  could  have  but  one  ending,  but 
which,  until  that  end  came,  would  mean,  under  the 
new  conditions  of  warfare,  an  almost  unimaginable 
destruction  of  life  and  property,  especially  since 
(as  was  known)  the  Socialists  repudiated  all  the 
international  laws  of  warfare.  The  defiance  was, 
of  course,  a  ridiculous  and  a  desperate  one,  but  it 
was  the  defiance  of  a  savage  child  w^ho  held  all 
modern  resources  in  his  hands  and  knew  how  to 
use  them.  There  was  also  possible,  as  some  said,  a 
rising  all  over  the  civilized  world,  should  the  move- 
ment meet  with  success. 

So  much,  in  brief,  was  what  Monsignor  Master- 
man  knew.  So  much,  indeed,  w^as  now  public 
property  all  the  world  over,  and  it  was  not  reassur- 
ing. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  369 

Certainly  he  feared  death  for  himself;  yet,  as  he 
passed  up  and  down,  he  could  honestly  and  sin- 
cerely tell  himself  that  this  was  not  foremost  in  his 
mind.  Rather  it  was  a  sense  of  bewildered  shock 
and  horror  that  such  things  could  have  broken  in 
upon  that  orderly,  disciplined  world  with  which  he 
had  become  familiar.  It  was  this  horror  that  hung 
over  him  —  its  impression  deepened  by  the  bleak 
April  morning,  the  nervous  strain  under  which  he 
suffered,  the  brusque  discourtesy  of  the  men  who 
had  received  him,  and  the  knowledge  that  scarcely 
thirty-six  hours  before  an  envoy  who  had  come 
alone  and  peaceably  had  been  done  to  death  in  this 
silent  city.  And  the  horror  also  centered  for  him 
now,  as  in  a  symbol,  in  the  old  Cardinal  whom  he 
was  learning  to  love. 

He  framed,  as  men  do  when  the  imagination  is 
stimulated  to  the  highest  pitch,  a  dozen  possible 
events  —  each  seen  by  him  mentally,  clear,  in  a  pic- 
ture. He  constructed  for  himself  the  Cardinal's 
return  wath  news  of  a  compromise,  with  an  an- 
nouncement at  least  of  delay.  (He  knew  a  few  of 
the  proposals  that  were  to  be  made  by  sanction  of 
the  Pope.)  Or  he  saw  him  coming  back,  anxious 
and  perturbed,  with  nothing  decided.  Or  he  im- 
agined himself  being  sent  for  in  haste.  .  .  . 
And  there  were  other  pictures,  more  terrible;  and 
against  these  he  strove  with  all  his  will,  telling  him- 


3/0  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

self  that  it  was  inconceivable  that  such  things  should 
be.  Yet  not  one  of  his  imaginings  was  as  terrible 
as  the  event  itself.     .     .     . 

It  came  swift  and  sudden,  without  the  faintest 
sign  of  premonition. 

As  he  turned  in  his  endless  pacings,  down  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  his  ears  for  the  instant 
filled  with  the  clatter  of  some  cart  outside  the  open, 
barred  windows,  a  figure  came  swiftly  into  the 
room,  without  the  sound  of  a  footstep  to  warn 
him.  Behind  he  could  make  out  two  faces  wait- 
ing.    .     .     . 

It  was  the  Cardinal  who  stood  there,  upright  and 
serene  as  ever,  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  silenced 
the  priest.  He  lifted  his  hand  on  which  shone  his 
great  amethyst,  and  at  the  motion,  scarcely  know- 
ing what  he  did,  the  priest  was  on  his  knees. 

"  Benedictio  Dei  omnipotentis,  Patris  et  Filii  et 
SpiriUis  Sancti,  descendat  iiper  te,  et  maneat  sem- 
per/' 

That  was  all ;  not  a  word  more. 

And  as  the  priest  sprang  up  with  a  choking  cry, 
the  slender  figure  was  gone,  and  the  door  shut. 


CHAPTER  IV 

(I) 

A  LL  day  long  there  had  hung  a  strange  silence 
^  ^  over  the  city,  unlike  in  its  quality  that  or- 
dinary comparative  quiet  of  modern  towns  to  which 
the  man  wdio  had  lost  his  memory  had  become  by 
now  accustomed.  He  knew  well  by  now  the  gen- 
tle, almost  soothing,  hum  of  busy  streets,  as  the 
traffic  and  the  footsteps  went  over  the  noiseless 
pavements,  and  the  air  murmured  with  the  clear 
subdued  notes  of  the  bells  and  the  melodious  horns 
of  the  swifter  vehicles;  all  this  had  something  of 
a  reassuring  quality,  reminding  the  listener  that  he 
lived  in  a  world  of  men,  active  and  occupied  indeed, 
but  also  civilized  and  self-controlled. 

But  the  silence  of  this  inner  quarter  of  Berlin 
was  completely  different.  Its  profoundness  was 
sinister  and  suggestive.  Now  and  again  came  a 
rapid  hooting  note,  growing  louder  and  more  in- 
sistent, as  some  car,  bound  on  revolutionary  work, 
tore  up  some  street  out  of  sight  at  forty  miles  an 
hour  and  away  again  into  silence.  Several  times 
he  heard  voices  in  sharp  talk  pass  beneath  his  win- 


372  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

dow.  Occasionally  somewhere  overhead  in  the 
great  buildings  sounded  the  whir  of  a  lift,  a  foot- 
step, the  throwing  up  of  a  window.  And  to  each 
sound  he  listened  eagerly  and  intently,  ignorant  as 
to  whether  it  might  not  mark  the  news  of  some 
fresh  catastrophe,  the  tidings  of  some  decision  that 
would  precipitate  his  world  about  him. 

As  to  the  progress  of  events  he  knew  nothing  at 
all. 

Since  that  horrible  instant  when  the  door  had 
closed  in  his  face  and  the  Cardinal  had  gone  again 
as  mysteriously  as  he  had  come  —  now  three  days 
ago  —  he  had  heard  no  hint  that  could  tell  him  how 
things  developed.  He  had  not  even  dared  to  ask 
the  taciturn  servant  in  uniform  who  brought  him 
food  as  to  the  fate  of  the  old  man.  For  he  knew 
Vv^ith  a  certainty  as  clear  as  if  he  had  seen  the  dread- 
ful thing  done,  that  his  friend  and  master  was  dead 
—  dead,  as  the  Revolutionary  Committee  had  said 
he  would  be,  if  he  came  with  any  message  other 
than  that  of  submission.  As  to  the  manner  of  his 
death  he  dared  not  even  conjecture.  It  would  be 
swift,  at  least.     .     .     . 

Ten  thousand  thoughts,  recurring  and  recurring, 
like  pictures  thrown  on  a  wall,  ran  past  his  attention 
as  the  hours  went  by.  He  saw  the  gathering  of 
armaments  —  the  horizon  tinged  by  the  gathering 
war-vessels  of  the  air  —  the  advance,  the  sudden 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  373 

storm  of  battle,  the  gigantic  destruction  from  these 
vast  engines  of  power  of  which  he  had  learned 
nothing  but  their  ghastly  potentialities.  Or  he  saw 
the  advance  of  this  desperate  garrison,  dispersing 
this  way  and  that  for  their  war  upon  the  world  — 
silent  vessels,  moving  in  the  clouds,  to  Rome,  to 
London,  to  Paris  and  Versailles,  each  capable  of  ob- 
literating a  city.  Or  he  saw,  again,  the  submission 
of  the  world  to  the  caprice  of  these  desperate  chil- 
dren who  feared  nothing  —  not  even  death  itself  — 
who  crouched  like  an  ape  in  a  powder-magazine, 
lighted  match  in  hand,  careless  as  to  whether  or  no 
themselves  died  so  long  as  the  world  died  with 
them. 

He  formulated  nothing;  concluded  nothing;  he 
rejected  every  conjecture  which  temporarily  con- 
structed itself  in  his  almost  passive  mind.  He  did 
not  even  yet  fully  understand  that  the  question  he 
had  asked  of  himself  months  before  —  the  question 
that  had  tortured  him  so  keenly  —  as  to  whether 
these  Christians  who  ruled  had  not  forgotten  how 
to  suffer  —  had  been  answered  with  dreadful  dis- 
tinctness. He  just  perceived  that  the  young  Ro- 
man prince  had  been  gallant;  that  the  old  man  had 
been  more  gallant  still,  since  those  to  whom  he  came 
had  already  proved  that  they  would  keep  their  word. 
And  now  the  third  day  was  drawing  to  an  end,  and 
by  midnight  suspense  would  be  over. 


374  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

The  fog  still  hung  over  the  city ;  but  towards  sun- 
set it  lifted  a  little,  and  he  raised  his  heavy  head 
from  his  breast  as  he  lay,  half  sitting,  half  lying, 
on  the  tumbled  sofa  and  blankets  on  which  he  had 
slept,  to  see  the  red  sunlight  on  the  wall  above  him. 
It  was  a  curious  room  to  a  man  who  had  grown  ac- 
customed to  modern  ways;  there  was  a  faded  car- 
pet on  the  floor,  paper  on  the  walls,  and  the  old- 
fashioned  electric  globes  hung,  each  on  its  wire, 
from  the  whitewashed  ceiling.  He  saw  that  it 
must  be  a  survival,  or  perhaps  a  deliberate  archa- 
ism.    .     .     . 

The  sunlight  crept  slowly  up  the  wall.     .     .     . 

Then  the  door  was  unlocked  from  the  outside, 
and  he  turned  his  head,  to  see  James  Hardy  come 
smiling  tow^ards  him. 

(II) 

"  Good  evening,  Monsignor.  I  am  ashamed  that 
I  have  not  paid  you  a  visit  before.  But  we  have 
been  very  busy  these  days.'' 

He  sat  down  without  offering  to  shake  hands. 

The  priest  saw,  with  one  of  those  sudden  inex- 
plicable intuitions  more  certain  than  any  acquired 
knowledge,  two  things :  first,  that  his  having  been 
left  alone  for  three  days  had  been  by  deliberation 
and  not  carelessness  and  second,  that  this  visit  to 
him  only  a  few  hours  before  the  time  of  truce  ex- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  375 

pired  was  equally  deliberate.  His  brain  was  too 
confused  for  him  to  draw  any  definite  conclusion 
from  these  facts;  but  he  made  at  least  one  pro- 
visional decision,  as  swift  as  lightning,  that  he  must 
hold  his  tongue. 

"  You  have  had  an  anxious  time,  I  am  afraid," 
went  on  the  other.  "  But  so  have  we  all.  You 
must  bear  no  malice,  Monsignor." 

The  priest  said  nothing.  He  looked  between  his 
half -closed  eyelids  at  the  heavy,  clean-shaven,  clever 
face  of  the  man  who  sat  opposite  him,  the  strong, 
capable,  and  rather  humorous  mouth,  his  close-cut 
hair  turning  a  little  gray  by  the  ears,  watching  for 
any  sign  of  discomposure.  But  there  was  none  at 
all. 

The  man  glanced  up,  caught  his  eye,  and  smiled  a 
little. 

"  Well,  I  am  afraid  you're  not  altogether  pleased 
with  us.  But  you  must  bear  in  mind,  Monsignor, 
that  you've  driven — "  (he  corrected  his  phrase)  — 
"  you  drove  us  into  a  corner.  I  regret  the  deaths  of 
the  two  envoys  as  much  as  you  yourself.  But  we 
were  forced  to  keep  our  word.  Obviously  your 
party  did  not  believe  us,  or  they  would  have  com- 
municated by  other  means.  Well,  we  had  to  prove 
our  sincerity."  (He  paused.)  *' And  we  shall 
have  to  prove  it  again  to-night,  it  seems." 

Again  there  was  silence. 


376  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"  I  think  you're  foolish  to  take  this  Hne,  Mon- 
signor,"  went  on  the  other  briskly  — "  this  not 
speaking  to  me,  I  mean.  I'm  quite  willing  to  tell 
you  all  I  know,  if  you  care  to  ask  me.  I've  not 
come  to  bully  you  or  to  triumph  over  you.  And 
after  all,  you  know,  we  might  easily  have  treated 
you  as  an  envoy,  too.  To  be  quite  frank,  it  was  I 
who  pleaded  for  you.  .  .  .  Oh!  not  out  of  any 
tenderness ;  we  have  got  past  that.  You  Christians 
have  taught  us  that.  But  I  thought  that  so  long 
as  we  kept  our  word  we  need  not  go  beyond  it. 
And  it's  proved  that  I'm  right.  .  .  .  Aren't 
you  curious  to  know  why?  " 

The  priest  looked  at  him  again. 

"  Well,  we  are  going  to  send  you  back  after  mid- 
night. You  will  have  to  witness  the  last  scene,  I 
am  afraid,  so  that  you  can  give  a  true  account  of  it 
—  the  Emperor's  death,  I  mean.'* 

He  paused  again,  waiting  for  an  answer.  Then 
he  stood  up,  at  last,  it  seemed,  pricked  into  impa- 
tience. 

"  Kindly  come  with  me,  Monsignor,"  he  said  ab- 
ruptly.    "  I  have  to  take  you  before  the  Council." 

(Ill) 

It  was  a  large  hall,  resembling  a  concert-room, 
into  which  the  priest  came  at  last,  an  hour  later,  un- 
der the  escort  of  James  Hardy  and  a  couple  of  po- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  377 

lice,  and  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  observe  it,  as  he 
stood  waiting  by  the  little  door  through  which  he 
stepped  on  to  the  back  of  the  platform. 

This  platform  stood  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall, 
and  was  set  with  a  long  semicircle  of  chairs  and 
desks,  as  if  for  judges,  and  these  were  occupied 
by  perhaps  thirty  persons,  dressed,  he  saw,  in  dull 
colors,  all  alike.  The  dresses  seemed  curiously  fa- 
miliar ;  he  supposed  he  must  have  seen  them  in  pic- 
tures. Then  he  remembered  a  long  while  ago  Fa- 
ther Jervis'  telling  him  that  the  Socialists  resented 
the  modern  developments  in  matters  of  costume. 

The  President's  desk  and  seat  were  raised  a  little 
above  the  others,  but  from  behind  the  priest  could 
see  nothing  of  him  but  his  black  gown  and  his 
rather  long  iron-gray  hair ;  he  seemed  to  be  answer- 
ing in  rapid  German  some  question  that  one  of  his 
colleagues  had  just  put  to  him. 

The  rest  of  the  hall  was  almost  empty.  A  table 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  platform,  and  here  were 
three  or  four  of  the  usual  recording  machines;  a 
dozen  men  sat  here,  too,  some  writing,  some  listen- 
ing, leaning  back  in  their  chairs.  In  the  middle,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  stood  a  structure  re- 
sembling a  witness-box,  ascended  by  two  steps, 
railed  in  on  the  three  other  sides.  A  man  with  a 
pointed  gray  beard  was  leaving  the  box  as  the  priest 
came  in.     Standing  about  the  hall  also  were  per- 


378  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

haps  twenty  other  persons  apparently  hstening  to 
the  President  or  waiting  their  turn.  There  were 
tall  doors  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  closed  and  guarded 
by  police,  and  in  the  middle  of  each  of  the  long 
sides  two  other  doors,  also  closed,  communicating 
with  other  rooms  and  passages,  in  one  of  which  the 
priest  had  waited  just  now  until  the  Council  could 
see  him. 

Except  for  the  rapid,  heavy  voice  of  the  Presi- 
dent the  hall  was  very  quiet,  and  from  the  very  si- 
lence and  motionlessness  of  those  present  there  ex- 
haled a  certain  air  of  tenseness.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  for  any  intelligent  person  not  to  notice  it, 
and  for  the  priest,  his  nerves  strung  as  they  now 
were  to  an  extreme  pitch  of  sensitiveness  and  atten- 
tion, the  atmosphere  was  overwhelmingly  signifi- 
cant. Of  what  it  signified  he  had  no  idea,  beyond 
the  knowledge  he  already  possessed  —  that  the 
hours  were  running  out,  and  that  midnight  would 
see  a  decisive  event  which,  though  it  must  mean 
ultimately  the  ruin  of  every  person  present,  might, 
for  all  that,  change  the  line  of  the  world's  develop- 
ment. A  protest  so  desperate  as  this  could  not  but 
have  a  tremendous  effect  upon  human  sentiment. 
He  had  caught  a  glimpse  an  hour  before,  as  he 
whirled  through  the  streets,  far  up  against  the 
luminous   sky  westwards,   of   a  string  of   floating 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  379 

specks,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  guard-boats,  strung 
out  now,  night  and  day,  in  a  vast  circle  round  the 
city.     At     midnight     they     would     surely     move. 

Dark  had  already  fallen  outside,  but  the  hall  was 
as  light  as  day  with  the  hidden  electric  burners 
above  the  cornices,  and  he  could  see  not  only  the 
faces,  but  the  very  expressions  that  characterized 
them.  One  thing  at  least  was  common  to  them  all 
—  a  silent,  fierce  excitement.     .     .     . 

It  would  be  about  ten  minutes  before  the  priest's 
turn  came  to  face  the  Council.  It  seemed  that  the 
member  to  whom  the  President  was  speaking  was 
not  satisfied,  and  question  and  answer,  all  in  rapid, 
unintelligible  German,  went  on  without  intermis- 
sion. Once  or  twice  there  was  a  murmur  of  ap- 
plause, and  more  than  once  the  President  beat  his 
hand  heavily  and  emphatically  upon  the  desk  before 
him  to  enforce  his  point.  The  priest  guessed  that 
the  unanimity  was  not  perhaps  as  perfect  as  the 
world  had  been  given  to  believe.  However,  guess- 
ing was  useless.  The  President  leaned  back  at  last, 
and  Hardy  stepped  forward  to  his  chair  and  whis- 
pered. The  President  nodded,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment, at  a  sign  from  Hardy,  the  two  police  urged 
the  priest  forward  by  the  arms  across  the  platform, 
down  the  steps,  and  so  round  to  the  right  up  into 

25 


38o  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  witness-box.  Then  the  President,  who  had  still 
been  whispering  behind  his  hand,  turned  abruptly 
in  his  chair  and  faced  him. 

Monsignor  related  afterwards  what  an  extraor- 
dinary moment  that  had  been.  His  nerves  were  al- 
ready tight-stretched  and  his  expectation  was  at 
the  highest;  but  the  face  of  this  man  who  now 
looked  at  him  (tremendous  though  he  knew  such  a 
personality  must  be,  which  could  conceive  and  drive 
through  such  a  revolt  as  this),  the  face  of  him  was 
beyond  all  imagining. 

In  the  fashion  of  the  day  it  was  clean-shaven,  and 
the  absence  of  hair,  except  where  that  of  his  head 
framed  the  face,  increased  the  impressions  of  those 
lines  and  shadow.  It  was  a  priestly  face,  saw  Mon- 
signor, with  all  the  power  and  searchingness  of  one 
who  can  deal  with  living  souls;  but  the  face  of  a 
fallen  priest.  In  complexion  it  was  sallow,  but  the 
sallowness  of  health,  not  of  weakness;  full-shaped, 
but  without  being  fat;  the  lips  were  straight  and 
thin,  the  nose  sharp  and  jutting  and  well  curved,  and 
the  black  eyes  blazed  at  him  with  immense  power 
from  beneath  heavy  brows.  His  hair  was  brushed 
straight  back  from  the  forehead,  and  fell  rather 
long  behind.  The  face  resembled  a  carefully  mod- 
eled mask,  through  the  eyes  of  which  alone  the  tre- 
mendous life  was  visible. 

The  priest  met  those  eyes  straight  for  an  instant. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  381 

then  he  lowered  his  own,  knowing  that  he  could 
not  be  wholly  himself  if  he  looked  that  man  in  the 
face. 

He  was  surprised  to  hear  words  of  English  ut- 
tered. He  looked  up  again,  and  there  was  Hardy 
speaking,  from  beside  the  President's  chair. 

"  Monsignor,  you  would  not  answer  me  just  now. 
Now  that  I  am  speaking  in  the  Council's  name,  will 
you  consent  to  do  so?  " 

"  I  will  answer  what  I  think  right  to  answer." 

There  was  a  touch  of  amusement  in  Hardy's 
voice  as  he  went  on. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,  Monsignor.  We  do 
not  extort  answers  by  the  rack.  I  only  wished  to 
know  if  you  would  be  reasonable." 

The  priest  said  nothing. 

"  Very  good,  then.  .  .  .  First  we  will  tell 
you  our  intentions.  At  midnight,  as  you  know,  we 
keep  our  word,  and  the  Emperor  will  have  to  go 
the  w^ay  of  the  others.  It  is  regrettable,  but  the 
Christians  do  not  seem  to  understand  even  yet  that 
we  are  in  earnest.  You  will  have  to  be  present  at 
that  scene,  I  am  sorry  to  say;  but  you  can  comfort 
yourself  by  ministering  to  your  co-religionist.  He 
has  not  had  a  priest  admitted  to  him  since  his  arrest. 

"  Immediately  afterwards  you  will  be  set  at  lib- 
erty, and  put  on  board  the  air-boat  on  which  you 
traveled   from   Rome,   with  the   same   driver   who 


Z^2  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

brought  you  here,  on  one  single  condition.  That 
condition  is  that  you  go  straight  to  the  Holy  Father, 
tell  him  all  that  you  have  seen,  and  take  with  you 
one  or  two  little  objects." 

He  paused  and  beckoned  to  some  one  behind.  A 
man  came  forward  with  a  little  box  which  he  laid 
on  the  table.     Hardy  opened  it. 

''  This  is  the  box  you  are  to  take.  Yes ;  I  see 
that  you  recognize  them.  They  are  the  biretta,  the 
skull-cap,  the  cross,  and  the  ring  of  the  late  Cardi- 
nal Bellairs.  There  are  also  in  this  box  the  ring  and 
a  medal  belonging  to  the  late  Prince  Otteone.  .  .  . 
You  will  take  these  with  you  as  pledges  of  what 
you  say.  .  .  .  Will  you  consent  to  do 
this?" 

The  priest  bowed.  For  the  moment  he  was  un- 
able to  speak. 

"  You  will  also  tell  the  Holy  Father,"  went  on 
the  other,  replacing,  as  he  spoke,  the  things  in  the 
box,  "  what  you  have  seen  of  our  dispositions.  You 
will  say  that  you  saw  us  entirely  resolute  and  un- 
afraid. We  do  not  fear  anybody,  Monsignor  — 
not  anything  at  all ;  I  think  you  understand  that  by 
now. 

"  You  will  have  a  letter,  of  course,  to  take  with 
you.  It  will  contain  our  final  terms.  Because 
(and  I  assure  you  that  you  are  the  first  of  the  out- 
side world  to  hear  this  news)  — because  we  have 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  383 

decided  to  extend  our  patience  for  one  more  week. 
We  shall,  during  that  week,  in  order  to  prove  the 
genuineness  of  our  intentions,  make  a  raid  upon  a 
certain  city  and,  we  hope,  destroy  it.  (Naturally,  I 
shall  not  inform  you  where  that  city  stands.)  And 
if,  at  the  end  of  that  week,  our  former  terms  are  not 
accepted,  we  shall  carry  out  our  promises  to  the  full. 
You  may  also  add,"  he  went  on  more  deliberately, 
"  that  our  party  is  represented  in  every  capital  of 
Europe,  and  that  these  may  be  expected  to  act  in 
the  same  way  as  that  in  which  we  have  acted, 
as  soon  as  the  week  expires.  We  have  no  objec- 
tion to  telling  you  this:  our  plans  are  completely 
made,  and  no  precautions  on  your  side  can  hinder 
them.     Is  that  clear,  Monsignor?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest. 

"  You  are  satisfied  that  we  mean  what  we  say?  " 

"  Yes." 

Hardy's  manner  changed  a  little.  Up  to  now  he 
had  been  speaking  coldly  and  sharply,  except  where 
once  or  twice  a  slightly  ironical  tone  had  come  into 
his  voice.  Now  he  bent  forward  a  little  with  his 
hands  upon  the  table,  and  his  tone  became  a  trifle 
friendly. 

"  Now  there  are  just  one  or  two  questions  that 
the  Council  wish  me  to  put  to  you." 

Monsignor  glanced  up  at  the  circle  of  watching 
faces,  and  as  he  looked  at  the  President,  he  could 


384  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

have  sworn  tliat  a  look  of  displeasure  came  over 
the  man's  face. 

"Well,  our  first  question  is  this  (I  dare  say  you 
will  not  answer  it;  but  if  you  will  oblige  us,  we 
shall  be  grateful)  :  Can  you  tell  us  whether,  when 
you  left  Rome,  the  Holy  Father,  or  the  European 
Powers,  showed  any  signs  of  yielding?  " 

The  priest  drew  a  breath. 

"  I  am  absolutely  sure,"  he  said  quietly,  "  that 
they  had  no  idea  of  yielding,  and  that  they  never 
will." 

"  Why  did  they  send  envoys  then  ?  " 

"  They  were  willing  to  make  other  concessions." 

"What  were  these  concessions?" 

Monsignor  hesitated. 

"  I  am  not  an  envoy;  I  have  no  power  to  say." 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  were?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why  will  you  not  say?  Is  it  not  the  wish  of 
the  Powers  to  come  to  terms?  " 

"  It  was  their  wish." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  it  is  so  no  longer?  " 

"  I  cannot  imagine  it  being  their  wish  any  longer." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  murdered  the  two  envoys  they 
sent,"  said  the  priest,  beginning  suddenly  to  shake 
all  over  with  uncontrollable  nervous  excitement. 

"  Have  you  any  reason  for  saying  that?  " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  385 

"  I  know  what  I  would  do  myself  under  such  cir- 
cumstances." 

"  And  that  is  — " 

The  priest  straightened  himself,  and  seized  the 
rail  before  him  to  steady  himself. 

"  I  would  wipe  out  of  existence  every  soul  that 
was  concerned  in  those  murders.  I  would  have  no 
more  civilized  dealings  with  savages." 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  and  murmur  in 
the  circle  on  the  platform.  From  the  intentness 
with  which  they  had  followed  the  questions  and 
answers,  Monsignor  saw  that  they  understood  Eng- 
lish well  enough.  One  man  sprang  to  his  feet.  But 
simultaneously  the  President  was  on  his  own,  and 
with  a  gesture  and  a  sharp  word  or  two  restored 
order. 

"  That  is  very  deplorable  violence,"  said  Hardy. 
*'  But  it  is  most  Christian." 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  so  myself,"  said  the 

priest. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  other,  tapping  the  table 
irritably,  "  we  must  get  on  — " 

A  door  behind  him,  communicating  with  the  of- 
fices behind  the  hall,  opened  suddenly  as  he  spoke 
these  words,  and  he  broke  off.  Monsignor  fol- 
lowed the  direction  of  his  eyes,  and  savv^  a  man  en- 
ter who  was  plainly  in  a  state  of  extreme  excite- 
ment.    He  was  across  the  platform  in  three  or  four 


386  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

quick  steps,  and  laid  a  paper  before  the  President, 
pushing  by  Hardy  to  do  so.  Then  he  stood  back 
abruptly  and  waited.  The  President  took  up  the 
paper  deliberately  and  read  it.  Then  he  laid  it 
down  again,  and  a  question,  too,  was  asked  smartly 
in  the  same  rapid  German,  and  answered  smartly. 

Then  he  turned,  and  creasing  the  paper  between 
his  fingers  as  he  spoke,  uttered  a  sentence  that 
brought  every  man  to  his  feet. 

(IV) 

In  the  confusion  that  followed  Monsignor  stood 
for  a  while  disregarded.  The  man  who  had 
brought  the  message,  had,  after  one  more  sentence 
snapped  at  him  over  the  President's  shoulder,  van- 
ished once  more.  For  the  rest  —  they  were  up 
now,  forming  into  groups,  talking  excitedly,  dis- 
solving again,  and  re-forming.  Only  two  remained 
quiet  —  Hardy  and  the  President ;  the  latter  still  in 
his  chair,  staring  out  moodily,  with  the  Englishman 
whispering  into  his  ear.  Then  Hardy,  too,  stood 
back  and  stared  about  him.  One  or  two  men  came 
up,  but  he  waved  them  aside.  Then  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  priest,  still  waiting:  he  slipped  away  from 
the  chair,  came  down  the  steps,  and  beckoned  to 
him. 

Monsignor  was  in  a  whirl;  but  he  turned  and 
came  obediently  out  of  his  place  into  the  corner  by 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  387 

the  steps.  He  noticed  as  he  came  that  even  those 
who  guarded  the  lower  doors  were  talking. 

"  There's  news,"  whispered  Hardy  sharply. 
"  Another  envoy  is  coming.     Who  is  it?  " 

The  priest  shook  his  he^  i. 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

'*  He'll  be  here  in  ten  minutes,"  said  Hardy. 
"  He  passed  the  line  of  guard-boats  five  minutes 
ago.     Monsignor  — '' 

"  Yes." 

"Just  come  behind  here  a  moment.  I  want  to 
have  a  word  with  you." 

As  they  crossed  the  platform  he  slipped  off  again 
to  the  President's  chair,  whispered  a  word  to  him, 
and  returned. 

"  Come  through  here,"  he  whispered. 

Together  they  passed  through  the  door  at  the 
back,  and  so  into  one  of  the  little  rooms  through 
which  they  had  come  together  half  an  hour  before. 
There  he  closed  both  doors  carefully  and  came  up 
to  the  priest. 

"  Monsignor,"  he  said,  and  hesitated. 

The  priest  looked  at  him  curiously.  He  began 
to  see  that  a  disclosure  was  coming. 

"  Monsignor,  I  have  not  been  hard  on  you 
.     .     .     I  came  as  soon  as  I  could.     .     .     ." 

"Well?" 

"  I     ...     I  don't  know  what's  going  to  hap- 


388  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

pen.  The  envoy's  coming  at  the  last  hour.  The 
Council  is  in  a  very  divided  state  of  mind.  You 
saw  that?" 

"Well?'' 

"  They're  wavering.  It's  no  use  denying  it. 
They'd  accept  almost  anything.  It's  perfectly  des- 
perate.    They  see  that  now." 

He  was  fingering  the  priest's  sleeve  by  now,  and 
his  eyes  were  full  of  a  pitiable  anxiety. 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?  " 

"  Well,  they'll  say  I  was  responsible  —  if  the  ne- 
gotiations come  to  anything,  I  mean.  They'll  say  I 
urged  them  on.  They'll  sacrifice  me  —  me  and  the 
President.  They'll  say  they  never  would  have  gone 
to  such  lengths  —  What's  that  noise?" 

Monsignor  jerked  his  head  impatiently.  He  be- 
gan to  see  light. 

"  Well,"  went  on  the  other  nervously,  **  I  want 
you  to  speak  for  me,  if  necessary  —  if  necessary, 
you  understand?  You're  a  Christian,  Monsignor. 
.     .     .     You'll  stand  by  me." 

The  priest  waited  before  answering;  as  the  situa- 
tion took  shape  before  his  eyes,  he  began  to  under- 
stand more  and  more  clearly ;  and  yet  — 

A  voice  called  out  sharply  beyond  the  door,  and 
Hardy  leapt  to  the  handle,  beckoning  with  his  head ; 
and  as  the  priest  obediently  followed,  he  gave  him 
one  more  look  of  entreaty  and  opened  the  door. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  389 

The  President  stood  there.  The  great  man,  more 
impressive  than  ever  now,  as  his  great  height 
showed  itself,  ran  his  eyes  slowly  over  the  two. 

'*  Come  back  to  the  hall,"  he  said,  so  slowly  that 
even  the  priest  understood  it,  and  turned. 

"  The  envoy's  coming,"  whispered  Hardy  breath- 
lessly, as  he  paused  before  following.  "  You'll  re- 
member, Monsignor." 

It  was  hardly  a  minute  since  they  had  left,  and 
yet  all  confusion  had  vanished.  Every  man  was 
back  in  his  seat,  with  that  same  impassive  and  yet 
attentive  air  that  they  had  worn  when  Monsignor 
first  saw  them.  Yet,  with  his  new  knowledge,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  could  detect,  beneath  all  that, 
something  of  the  indecisiveness  of  which  he  had 
just  learned.  Certainly  they  were  under  admirable 
discipline ;  yet  he  began  to  see  that  discipline  had  its 
limitations. 

The  President  was  already  in  the  act  of  sitting 
down,  Hardy  was  stepping  up  behind  him,  and  the 
priest  was  still  hesitating  by  the  door,  when  down 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  there  was  a  movement 
among  those  who  guarded  it,  the  great  doors  opened, 
and  a  figure  walked  straight  in,  without  looking  to 
right  or  left. 

He  came  on  and  up ;  and  as  he  came  the  hush  fell 
deeper.  It  was  impossible  even  to  see  his  face;  he 
was  in  a  long  traveling  cloak  that  fell  to  his  feet; 


390  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

a  traveling  cap  covered  his  head;  and  about  his 
throat  and  face  was  thrown  a  great  white  scarf,  such 
as  the  air-travelers  often  used.  He  came  on,  still 
without  looking  to  right  or  left,  walking  as  if  he 
had  some  kind  of  right  to  be  there,  straight  up  to 
the  witness-box,  ascended  the  steps,  and  stood  there 
for  an  instant  motionless. 

Then  he  unwound  his  scarf,  lifted  his  cap  and 
dropped  it  beside  him,  threw  back  his  cloak  with  a 
single  movement,  and  stood  there  —  a  white  figure 
from  head  to  foot,  white  capped.  .  .  .  There 
was  a  great  sigh  from  the  men  on  the  platform; 
two  or  three  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  sat  down 
again  as  suddenly.  Only  the  President  did  not 
move.     Then  there  fell  an  absolute  silence. 

:(v) 

"  Eh,  well,"  said  the  Pope  in  delicate  French ; 
"  I  am  arrived  in  time  then.'* 

He  looked  round  from  side  to  side,  smiling  and 
peering  —  this  little  commonplace-looking  French- 
man, who  had  in  his  hand  at  this  period  of  the 
world's  history  an  incalculably  greater  power  than 
any  living  being  on  earth  had  ever  before  wielded 
—  Father  of  Princes  and  Kings,  Arbiter  of  the 
East,  Father  as  well  as  Sovereign  Lord  of  consid- 
erably more  than  a  thousand  million  souls.  He 
stood   there,   utterly   alone,    with   a   single   servant 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  391 

waiting  out  there,  half  a  mile  away,  at  the  flying- 
stage,  in  the  presence  of  the  Council  who  in  the 
name  of  the  malcontents  of  the  human  race  had  de- 
clared war  on  the  world  of  which  he  was  now  all 
but  absolute  master.  No  European  nation  could 
pass  a  law  which  he  had  not  the  right  to  veto ;  not 
one  monarch  claimed  to  hold  his  crown  except  at 
the  hands  of  this  man.  And  the  East  —  even  the 
pagan  East  —  had  learned  at  last  that  the  Vicar  of 
Christ  was  the  Friend  of  Peace  and  Progress. 

And  he  stood  here,  smiling  and  peering  at  the 
faces. 

"  I  come  as  my  own  envoy,"  said  the  Pope  pres- 
ently, adjusting  his  collar.  ''  The  King  said,  '  They 
will  reverence  My  Son,'  so  I  am  come  as  the  Vicar 
of  that  Son.  You  have  killed  my  two  messengers, 
I  hear.     Why  have  you  done  that?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  From  where  the  priest 
stood  he  could  hear  labored  breathing  on  all  sides, 
but  not  a  man  moved  or  spoke. 

"  Eh,  well,  then,  I  have  come  to  ofifer  you  a  last 
opportunity  of  submitting  peacefully.  In  less  than 
an  hour  from  now  the  armed  truce  expires.  After 
that  we  shall  be  compelled  to  use  force.  We  do 
not  wish  to  use  force ;  but  society  must  now  protect 
itself.  I  do  not  speak  to  you  in  the  name  of  Christ ; 
that  name  means  nothing  to  you.  So  I  speak  in  the 
name  of  society,  which  you  profess  to  love.     Sub- 


392  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

mit,  gentlemen,  and  let  me  be  the  bearer  of  the 
good  news." 

He  spoke  still  in  that  absolutely  quiet  and  con- 
versational tone  in  which  he  had  begun.  One  hand 
rested  lightly  on  the  rail  before  him;  the  other 
gently  fingered  the  great  cross  on  his  breast,  nat- 
urally and  easily,  as  the  priest  had  seen  him  finger 
it  once  before  in  his  own  palace.  It  was  unthink- 
able that  such  a  w^eight  in  the  world's  history  rested 
on  so  slight  a  foundation.  Yet  for  a  few  frozen 
moments  no  one  else  moved  or  spoke.  It  is  prob- 
able that  the  scene  they  witnessed  seemed  to  them 
unsubstantial  and  untrue. 

Then,  as  the  priest  still  stood,  fascinated  and 
overwhelmed,  he  noticed  a  movement  in  the  great 
chair  before  him.  Very  slowly  the  President 
shifted  his  position,  clasping  his  hands  loosely  be- 
fore him  and  bending  forward  a  little.  Then  a  dia- 
logue began,  of  which  every  word  remained  in  the 
priest's  mind  as  if  written  there.  It  was  in  French 
throughout,  the  smooth  delicacy  of  the  Pope's  in- 
tonation contrasting  strangely  with  the  heavy  Ger- 
man accent  of  the  other. 

"  You  come  in  as  an  envoy,  sir.  Do  you  then 
accept  our  terms?  " 

"  I  accept  no  terms.     I  offer  them." 

"And  those?" 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  393 

"  Absolute  and  unconditional  submission  to  my- 
self." 

"  You  received  our  notice  as  to  the  treatment  of 
such  envoys?  " 

(There  was  a  rustle  in  the  hall,  but  the  other  paid 
no  attention.) 

"  But  certainly." 

*'  You  come  armed  then  —  protected  in  some 
manner?  " 

The  Pope  smiled.  He  made  a  little  opening  ges- 
ture with  his  hands. 

"  I  come  as  you  see  me;  no  more." 

"  Your  armies  are  behind  you?  " 

"  The  European  air-fleets  start  from  every  quar- 
ter at  midnight." 

"  With  your  consent?  " 

"  But  certainly." 

"  You  understand  that  this  means  immeasurable 
bloodshed?" 

"But  certainly." 

"You  defend  that?" 

"  My  Master  came  bringing  not  peace,  but  a 
sword.     But  I  am  not  here  to  teach  theology." 

"  But  until  midnight  — " 

"  Until  midnight  I  am  in  your  hands." 

Again  the  silence  fell,  deeper  than  ever.  Mon- 
signor  took  his  eyes  off  the  Pope's  face  for  an  in- 


394  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

stant  to  glance  round  what  he  could  see  of  the  cir- 
cle. All  were  staring  steadily,  some  half  sunk  down 
in  their  seats,  others  stretched  forward,  clasping 
the  outer  edges  of  the  desks  with  strained  hands,  all 
staring  at  this  quiet  white  figure  who  faced  them. 
He  looked  again  at  that  face.  If  there  had  been  in 
it,  not  merely  agitation  or  fear,  but  even  unusual 
paleness,  if  there  had  been  in  those  hands,  one  of 
which  bore  the  great  Papal  ring,  not  merely  trem- 
bling, but  even  a  sign  of  constriction  or  tenseness, 
it  might  well  have  been,  thought  the  priest  after- 
wards, that  the  scene  would  have  ended  very  dif- 
ferently. But  the  naturalness  and  ease  of  the  pose 
were  absolute.  He  stood  there,  the  hands  lightly 
laid  one  upon  the  other,  his  face  palish  certainly, 
but  not  colorless.  There  was  even  a  slight  flush 
in  his  cheeks  from  his  quick  walk  up  the  long  hall. 
It  was  a  situation  in  which  the  weight  of  a  hair 
would  turn  the  scale.     .     .     . 

Then  the  President  lifted  his  head  slightly,  and  a 
tremor  ran  round  the  circle. 

"  I  see  no  reason  for  delay,"  he  said  heavily. 
"  Our  terms  are  clear.  This  man  came  with  the 
full  knowledge  of  them  and  the  consequences  of 
disregarding  them  — " 

The  Pope  lifted  his  hand. 

**One  instant,  Mr.  President — " 

"  I  see  no  reason  — " 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  395 

''  Gentlemen  — " 

A  murmur  of  consent  rolled  round  the  thirty  per- 
sons sitting  there,  so  unmistakable  that  the  man 
who  up  to  now  had  ruled  them  all  with  a  hint  or 
gesture  dropped  his  head  again.  Then  the  Pope 
went  on. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  really  no  more  to  say  than 
that  which  I  have  said.  But  I  beg  of  you  to  recon- 
sider. You  propose  to  kill  me  as  you  have  killed 
my  messengers.  Well,  I  am  at  your  disposal.  I  did 
not  expect  to  live  so  long  when  I  set  out  from 
Rome  this  morning.  But,  then,  what  will  you 
gain?  At  midnight  every  civilized  nation  is  in 
arms.  And  I  will  tell  you  what  perhaps  you  do  not 
know  —  that  the  East  is  supporting  Europe.  The 
Eastern  fleets  are  actually  on  their  way  at  this  mo- 
ment that  I  speak.  You  propose  to  reform  So- 
ciety. I  will  not  argue  as  to  those  reforms;  I  say 
only  that  they  are  too  late.  I  will  not  argue  as  to 
the  truth  of  the  Christian  religion.  I  say  only  that 
the  Christian  religion  is  already  ruling  this  world. 
You  kill  me?  My  successor  will  reign  to-morrow. 
.  .  .  You  kill  the  Emperor;  his  son,  now  in 
Rome,  at  that  moment  begins  to  reign.  Gentlemen, 
what  do  you  gain?  Merely  this  —  that  in  days  to 
come  your  names  will  be  foul  in  all  men's  mouths. 
.  .  .  At  this  moment  you  have  an  opportunity 
to  submit ;  in  a  few  minutes  it  will  be  too  late." 


396  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

He  paused  a  moment. 

Then,  to  the  priest's  eyes,  it  seemed  as  if  some 
subtle  change  passed  over  his  face  and  figure.  Up 
to  now  he  had  spoken,  conversationally  and  quietly, 
as  a  man  might  speak  to  a  company  of  friends. 
But,  though  he  had  not  noticed  it  at  the  time,  he 
remembered  later  how  there  had  been  gathering 
during  his  little  speech  a  certain  secret  intensity  and 
force  like  the  kindling  of  a  fire.  In  this  pause  it 
swept  on  and  up,  flushing  his  face  with  sudden 
color,  lifting  his  hands  as  on  a  rising  tide,  breaking 
out  suddenly  in  his  eyes  like  fire,  and  in  his  voice  in 
passion.  The  rest  saw  it,  too ;  and  in  that  tense  at- 
mosphere it  laid  hold  of  them  as  with  a  giant's 
hand;  it  struck  their  tight-strung  nerves;  it  broke 
down  the  last  barriers  on  which  their  own  fears  had 
been  at  work. 

"  My  children,"  cried  the  White  Father,  no  longer 
a  Frenchman  now,  but  a  very  Son  of  Man.  "  My 
children,  do  not  break  my  heart !  So  long  and  hard 
the  labor  —  two  thousand  years  long  —  two  thou- 
sand years  since  Christ  died ;  and  you  to  wreck  and 
break  the  peace  that  comes  at  last;  that  peace  into 
which  through  so  great  tribulations  the  people  of 
God  are  entering  at  last.  You  say  you  know  no 
God,  and  cannot  love  Him ;  but  you  know  man  — ■ 
poor  willful  man  —  and  would  fling  him  back  once 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  397 

more  into  wrath  and  passion  and  lust  for  blood  ?  — 
those  lusts  from  which  even  now  he  might  pass  to 
peace  if  it  were  not  for  you.  You  say  that  Christ 
is  hard  —  that  His  Church  is  cruel,  and  that  man 
must  have  liberty  ?  I,  too,  say  that  man  must  have 
liberty  —  he  was  made  for  it ;  but  what  liberty 
would  that  be  which  he  has  not  learned  to  use  ? 

"  My  children !  have  pity  on  men,  and  on  me 
who  strive  to  be  their  father.  Never  yet  has  Christ 
reigned  on  earth  till  now  —  Christ  who  Himself 
died,  as  I,  His  poor  servant,  am  ready  to  die  a 
thousand  times,  if  men  may  but  themselves  learn 
to  die  to  self  and  to  live  to  Him.  Have  pity,  then, 
on  the  world  you  love  and  hope  to  serve.  Serve 
it  indeed  as  best  you  can.  Let  us  serve  it  to- 
gether !  " 

There  was  an  instant's  silence. 

He  stood  there,  his  hands  clasped  in  agony  upon 
his  cross.  Then  he  flung  his  hands  wide  in  sudden, 
silent  appeal. 

There  was  the  crash  of  an  overturned  desk;  the 
crying  out  of  desperate  voices  all  together,  and  as 
from  the  great  tower  overhead  there  beat  out  the 
first  stroke  of  midnight,  the  priest,  on  his  knees  now, 
saw  through  eyes  blind  with  tears,  figures  moving 
and  falling  and  kneeling  towards  that  central  form 
that  stood  there,  a  white  pillar  of  Royalty  and  sor- 


398  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

row,  calling  for  the  last  time  all  the  world  unto 
him. 

But  the  President  sat  still  at  his  desk,  motion- 
less. 


CHAPTER  V 

(I) 

THE  sight  on  which  the  watcher's  eyes  rested, 
as  he  sat,  hung  here  in  motionlessness  above 
Westminster,  a  hundred  feet  higher  than  the  great 
St.  Edward's  Tower  itself,  was  one  not  only  un- 
dreamed of,  but  even  inconceivable  to  me  of  earlier 
days. 

For  it  seemed  as  if  some  vast  invisible  air-way 
had  been  flung  straight  from  the  midst  of  London, 
down  away  to  the  southwest  horizon,  where  it  ran 
into  the  faint  summer  haze  thirty  miles  away.  So 
level  was  the  line  held  by  the  waiting  volors  on 
either  side  —  vast  barges,  shining  like  silver,  hung 
with  the  great  state-cloths  of  modern  days  —  that 
it  appeared  as  if  the  eye  itself  were  deceived,  as  if 
there  were  indeed  a  pavement  of  crystal,  a  river  of 
glass,  so  clear  as  itself  to  be  unseen,  on  whose  sur- 
face floated  this  navy  of  a  dream  such  as  the  world 
itself  had  never  imagined. 

Now  and  again,  like  a  fly  on  water,  there  darted 
from  one  side  to  the  other  a  tiny  boat,  in  the  blue 
and  silver  of  the  city  guards,  or  dropped,  ducked 

399 


400  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

and  vanished ;  now  and  again  it  wheeled,  and  came 
whiding  up  the  Hne,  vanishing  at  last  in  the  long 
perspective.  But,  for  the  rest,  the  monsters  waited 
motionless  in  the  sunlight,  their  state-cloths,  hung 
as  from  the  old  barges,  from  stem  to  stern,  as  mo- 
tionless as  themselves,  except  when  now  and  again 
the  summer  breeze  stirred  from  the  southwest,  lift- 
ing the  lazy  streamers,  wafting  softly  the  heavy 
embroideries,  and  stirring,  even  as  the  wind  stirs 
the  wheat,  the  glittering  giants  that  waited  to  do 
their  Lord  honor. 

Opposite  the  air-barge  where  the  watcher  sat,  per- 
haps a  hundred  yards  away,  floated  the  royal  boat, 
between  a  pair  of  warships,  one  blaze  of  scarlet, 
blue,  and  gold,  flapping  out  the  Royal  Standard  of 
England,  and  flashing  the  glass  of  the  stern-cabin  as 
the  great  creature  rocked  gently  now  and  again  in 
the  breeze;  and  upon  its  deck  rose  up  the  canopy 
where  the  king  and  his  consort  sat  together,  and 
the  line  of  scarlet  guards  visible  behind.  On  the 
^varships  on  either  side  the  crew  waited,  the  ship 
itself  dressed  as  for  a  review,  every  man  motionless 
at  his  post,  with  the  crash  of  brass  sounding  from 
the  lower  decks.  And  so  down  the  line  the  eye  of 
the  watcher  went  again  and  again,  fascinated  by 
the  beauty  and  the  glory,  down  past  where  the  great 
ducal  barges  hung,  each  in  order,  past  the  officers 
of  state,  past  the  Parliament  barges,  down  to  where 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  401 

the  boats,  in  numbers  beyond  all  reckoning,  faded 
away  into  the  haze. 

To  those  who  looked  across  to  where  the  man 
himself  sat  the  sight  must  have  been  no  less  amaz- 
ing. For  he  sat  here,  in  his  new  dress  of  Cardinal's 
scarlet,  on  the  throne  of  ceremony  beneath  his  can- 
opy with  his  attendants  about  him,  on  a  w4de  deck 
laid  down  with  scarlet,  its  prow  crowned  by  the  sil- 
ver cross  —  a  silent  watching  figure,  with  a  splen- 
dor of  romance  about  him  more  suggestive  even 
than  the  material  glory  that  showed  his  newly  won 
dignity. 

There  was  not  a  soul  there  in  those  astounding 
crowds,  whether  among  those  who  hanging  here 
between  heaven  and  earth,  awaited  for  the  cere- 
monial reception,  the  coming  of  him  who  was  Vicar 
of  one  and  Lord  of  the  other,  or  even  among  those 
incalculable  multitudes  beneath,  who  packed  the 
streets,  crowded  the  flat  roofs  and  looked  from 
every  window.  It  was  this  man  they  knew,  this  tiny 
red  figure,  sitting  solitary  and  motionless,  who, 
scarcely  three  months  before  had  stood  before  the 
revolutionary  Council  of  Berlin,  of  his  own  will 
and  choice  —  who  had  gone  there  and  faced  what 
seemed  a  certain  death,  for  love  of  the  old  man 
whose  body  now  lay  beneath  the  high-altar  of  the 
tremendous  cathedral  beneath,  and  to  whose  office 
and  honors  he  had  succeeded,  and  for  the  sake  of 


402  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

the  message  he  had  carried.  It  was  this  man,  alone 
of  the  whole  Christian  world,  who  after  looking 
into  the  face  of  death,  not  for  himself  only,  but  for 
one  who  was  dearer  to  him  and  to  that  Christian 
world  than  life  itself,  had  seen  in  one  moment  the 
last  storm  roll  away  from  human  history  forever; 
who  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes,  Christ  in  this  Vicar 

—  Princeps  gloriasiis  come  at  last  —  take  the  power 
and  reign. 

He,  too,  was  conscious  of  all  this,  at  least  sub- 
consciously, as  he  sat  motionless,  a  figure  carved  in 
ivory,  a  man  who  had  found  peace  at  last.  Here, 
in  the  contemplating  train,  as  with  his  eyes  he 
looked  over  the  vast  city  of  London,  enormous  and 
exquisite  beyond  the  dreams  of  either  the  reformers 
or  the  artists  of  a  centuiy  ago,  seen  as  through  the 
crystal  of  the  summer  air,  as  he  lifted  his  eyes  now 
and  again  to  the  solemn  barges  opposite  with  all 
that  that  dignity  meant;  above  all  as  he  looked 
down  that  immeasurable  line,  that  roadway  of  a 
god,  along  which  presently  at  least  the  Vicar  of  a 
God  should  come  —  all  this  and  a  thousand  mem- 
ories more  —  memories  of  events  such  as  few  ex- 
perience in  a  lifetime,  crowded  into  twelve  months 

—  passed  in  endless  defile,  coherent  and  consistent 
at  last  under  the  pointing  finger  of  Him  who  had 
directed  and  evolved  them  all. 

First,  then,  he  saw  himself,  a  child  in  knowledge, 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  403 

beginning  life  at  a  point  where  many  leave  it  off, 
plunged  into  a  world  that  was  wholly  strange  and 
bewildering,  a  world  which  though  Christian  in 
name,  seemed  brutal  in  nature  —  brutal  as  the  pagan 
empires  were  brutal,  yet  without  the  excuse  of  their 
ignorance  and  passion. 

Yet  his  intellect  had  seemed  unable  to  refute  the 
conclusion  of  that  march  of  events,  that  adherence 
of  all  ideals  in  a  reasoned  whole,  that  fulfillment  of 
instincts,  that  play  of  forces,  upon  which,  as  upon 
a  tide,  Catholicism  had  floated  to  final  victory  in 
the  history  of  mankind.  Not  one  element  had 
seemed  wanting;  and,  as  if  to  convince  by  sensible 
visions  that  the  brain  that  shrank  from  merely  ar- 
gued logic,  one  by  one  he  had  seen  for  himself  as 
in  a  picture  lesson,  and  at  Versailles  the  social 
problem  of  an  individual  kingdom  had  once  more 
submitted  to  monarchy  —  that  faulty  mirror  of  the 
Divine  government  of  the  world;  how  at  Rome  the 
stability  of  rival  kingdoms,  had  found  itself  once 
more  in  an  arbiter  whose  kingdom  was  not  of  this 
world ;  now  finally,  at  Lourdes,  in  the  widest  circle 
of  all,  the  very  science  of  the  world  itself  had  found 
itself  not  confronted  or  opposed,  but  welcomed  and 
transcended  by  a  school  of  thinkers  whose  limita- 
tions lay  only  in  the  Infinite. 

Once  more  then  he  had  returned.     Yet  he  found 
that  the  head  and  the  imagination  are  not  all ;  that 


404  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

man  has  a  heart  as  well;  and  that  this  has  its  de- 
mands no  less  inexorable  than  those  of  intellect. 
And  it  was  this  heart  of  his  that  had  seemed  out- 
raged and  silenced.  For  he  had  found  in  Chris- 
tianity a  synthesis  of  ideas  —  a  coincidence  of 
knowledge  —  which,  while  satisfying  that  head, 
emerged  in  a  system  to  which  his  heart  could  be  no 
party.  Fie  had  learned  that  "  Christian  society 
must  protect  itself  " ;  and  he  had  seemed  in  this  to 
find  a  denial  of  the  essential  Christian  doctrine  that 
success  comes  only  by  defeat,  and  triumph  by  the 
Cross.  It  had  seemed  to  him  that  Christ  had  ac- 
cepted the  taunts  at  last,  had  come  down  from  that 
Cross  and  won  the  homage  only  of  those  who  did 
not  understand  Him.  He  had  been  quieted  indeed 
for  a  time,  under  the  power  of  men  who,  whatever 
the  rest  of  the  world  might  do,  still  thought  that 
suffering  was  the  other  part.  Yet  he  had  been 
quieted;  not  convinced. 

Then  he  had  sought  a  glimpse  of  the  reverse  of 
the  picture  —  of  that  which  now  seemed  the  sole 
alternative  to  that  faith  which  he  feared  —  a  glimpse 
only;  yet  full  of  significance.  For  he  had  seen  men 
to  whom  the  better  part  of  themselves  seemed  noth- 
ing; men  who  walked  with  downcast  eyes,  piling 
mud  and  stones  together,  and  fancying  the  heap  to 
be  a  very  City  of  God. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  405 

Then,  swift  as  grace  itself,  had  come  his  an- 
swer. 

He  had  seen  men  who  had  ahxady  all  that  the 
world  could  give,  men  who,  he  had  thought  lusted 
only  for  power,  go  to  an  unknown  and  yet  a  cer- 
tain death  for  the  sake  of  a  world  for  which  he  had 
thought  they  cared  only  to  reign  —  and  go  with 
smiles  and  cheerfulness.  And  while  he  still  hurried 
in  indecision,  still  hesitated  as  to  whether  this  or 
that  was  the  Kingdom  of  God  —  this  shrinking 
dream  of  a  world  sufficient  to  itself,  or  this  bright- 
ening vision  —  then  the  last  light  had  come,  and  he 
had  seen  as  the  augur  by  sheer  self-abnigation,  by 
contempt  of  his  own  life,  by  the  all  but  divine  power 
of  an  ordinary  man  walking  in  grace.  There  had 
been  no  rhetoric  in  that  triumph,  no  promises,  no 
intoxication  of  phrases,  no  overwhelming  person- 
ality such  as  that  which  had  faced  him.  There  had 
been  nothing  but  a  little  quiet  personage  with  a 
father's  heart,  who  by  his  very  fidelity  to  his  hu- 
man type,  by  the  absolute  simplicity  of  his  presence 
had  first  climbed  to  the  highest  point  that  man  could 
reach,  and  then  by  that  same  fidelity  and  simplicity, 
had  cast  himself  down,  and  in  the  very  hour  that 
followed  the  unconditional  surrender  which  his  ene- 
mies had  made,  had  granted  them  a  measure  of  lib- 
erty such  as  they  had  never  dreamed  of.     In  the 


4o6  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

name  of  the  Powers,  whose  super-lord  and  repre- 
sentative he  was,  he  had  aboHshed  the  death-pen- 
alty for  opinions  subversive  of  society  or  faith,  sub- 
stituting in  its  place  deportation  to  the  new  Amer- 
ican colonies;  he  had  flung  open  certain  positions 
in  Catholic  states  hitherto  tenable  only  on  a  profes- 
sion of  the  Christian  religion  to  all  men  alike;  and 
he  had  guaranteed  to  the  new  colonies  in  America 
a  freedom  from  external  control  and  a  place  among 
civilized  power  such  as  they  had  never  expected  or 
asked. 

This  then  was  the  new  type  of  man  who  had  at 
last  conquered  the  world.  It  was  not  superman 
that  had  been  waited  for  so  long,  not  a  demigod 
armed  with  powers  of  light;  not  man  raising  him- 
self above  his  stature,  building  towers  on  earthly 
foundations  that  should  reach  to  heaven;  not  just 
man,  utterly  true  to  himself  and  his  instincts,  walk- 
ing humbly  before  his  God;  looking  for  a  city  that 
has  no  foundations,  coming  down  to  him  out  of 
heaven.  It  was  supernature,  not  superman;  grace 
and  truth  transfiguring  nature;  not  nature  wrench- 
ing itself  vainly  towards  the  stature  of  grace.  It 
was  man  who  can  suffer,  who  can  reign;  since  he 
only  who  knows  his  weakness,  dares  to  be  strong. 
.     .     .     Vicisti  Galilaee! 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  407 

(n) 

Slowly  then  he  had  come  to  see  that,  as  had 
been  told  him  long  before,  the  kingdoms  of  this 
world  were  already  passing  into  the  hands  of  a 
higher  dominion  —  and  this  was  the  significance  of 
this  microcosm  of  those  kingdoms  that  now  lay  be- 
fore his  bodily  eyes. 

There,  opposite  to  him,  in  the  blaze  of  sunlight, 
stood  the  throne  that  for  a  thousand  years  had  faced 
the  throne  of  the  Fisherman,  now  as  a  Suzerain, 
now  as  a  rebel  —  stable  and  fixed  at  last  in  its  al- 
legiance. Here  beneath  him  lay  London,  the  finest 
city  in  the  world,  where,  if  ever  anywhere,  had  been 
tried  the  experiment  of  a  religion  resting  on  the 
strength  of  a  national  isolation  instead  of  a  univer- 
sal supernationalism ;  it  had  been  tried,  and  found 
wanting.  Beneath  him  lay  his  own  cathedral,  al- 
ready blazing  within  like  a  treasure-cave,  ready  for 
its  consummation,  without,  tranquil  and  strong;  be- 
hind him  the  ancient  Abbey  once  again  in  the  hands 
of  the  children;  far  away  to  the  right,  seeming 
strangely  near  in  this  lucid  atmosphere,  hung,  like 
a  bubble,  the  great  dome  below  which,  as  he  knew, 
stood  the  first  basilican  altar  in  London,  newly  con- 
secrated as  a  sign  of  its  papal  dignities  and  priv- 
ileges. And  beyond  that  again  London;  and  yet 
a^ain  London,  a  wonderful  white  city,  gleaming  at 


4o8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

a  thousand  points  with  cross  and  spire  and  dome 
and  pinnacle,  patched  with  green  in  square  and 
park  and  open  space  —  London  come  back  again 
at  last  to  her  ancient  faith  and  her  old  prosperity. 

But  this  was  not  all. 

For  he  knew  and  his  imagination  circled  out 
wider  and  wider  that  he  might  take  it  in  —  he  knew 
that  Europe  itself  at  last  dwelt  again  with  one  mind 
in  her  house.  There  beyond  the  channel  —  across 
which  ten  minutes  ago,  as  the  thunder  of  guns  had 
told  him,  the  Arbiter  of  the  World  had  come  at  last 
with  his  train  of  kings  behind  him  —  there  lay  the 
huge  continent,  the  great  plains  of  France,  the  for- 
ests of  Germany,  the  giant  tumbled  debris  of  Switz- 
erland, the  warm  and  radiant  coasts,  the  ancient 
world-stage  of  Italy,  passionate  Spain  which  never 
yet  had  wholly  lost  her  love.  There  all  lay,  at  one 
at  last,  each  her  own,  with  her  own  liberties  and 
customs  and  traditions,  yet  each  in  the  service  of 
her  neighbor,  since  each  and  all  alike  lay  beneath 
the  Peace  of  God. 

Still  wider  fled  his  thought.  .  .  .  He  saw  to 
the  southwards  and  far  away  westwards  across  the 
seas,  how  now  this  country,  now  that,  flew  its  flag 
and  administered  its  laws,  yet  how  those  flags  all 
together  saluted  the  Crossed  Keys ;  how  those  laws, 
however  diverse,  bowed  all  together  before  the  Law 
of  Liberty;  and  how  there,  farther  yet,  already  the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  409 

gates  of  the  East  had  rolled  back,  and  how  there 
peered  out  across  half  the  world  the  patient  seek- 
inof  forces  of  those  old  children  of  earth,  awakened 
at  last  to  destinies  greater  than  their  own  —  awak- 
ened, not  as  men  had  once  feared,  by  the  thunder 
of  Christian  guns,  but  by  the  call  of  the  Shepherd 
to  sheep  that  were  not  of  His  Fold.     .     .     . 

So  there  the  vision  lay  before  him  —  this  man 
who  had  lost  his  memory  and  had  found  a  greater 
gift  instead. 

An  old  priest  in  the  white  fur  of  a  canon  came 
gently  up  the  deck  from  behind.     .     .     . 

"  Your  Eminence  .  .  ."  he  said,  "  they  have 
signaled  up  the  line.    ...   I  thought,  perhaps  — " 

The  new  Cardinal  started  as  one  from  a  dream. 

"What  is  it.  Father  Jervis?     .     .     ." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  closely;  then  he  laid 
his  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Your  Eminence,  the  King  is  waiting.  Do  you 
not  remember?  Your  Eminence  was  to  give  the 
signal." 

Beneath,  like  huge  voices  speaking  a  single  word 
all  at  once,  roared  the  old  guns  from  the  Tower  and 
Greenwich  and  the  palaces. 

The  Cardinal  shook  his  head. 

"  I  ...  I  forget,"  he  said ;  ''  I  was  think- 
ing.    .     .     .     What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

The   old   priest   looked   at   him   again   earnestly, 


4IO  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

without  speaking.  Then  he  leaned  forward  closer 
still. 

"  Will  your  Eminence  authorize  me  to  give  the 
signals?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Father  .  .  .  anything.  What 
am  I  to  do?     Have  I  to  say  anything?  " 

His  eyes  had  a  look  of  dawning  terror  in  them 
as  he  glanced  from  side  to  side.  The  priest  once 
again  laid  his  hand  on  the  lace-covered  wTist  and 
held  it  there  steadily. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  your  Eminence.  You  have  sim- 
ply to  sit  still.     I  will  arrange  everything." 

Still  standing  there,  he  turned  slightly  and  made 
a  sharp  gesture  behind  the  throne  with  his  left 
hand.  A  bell  sounded  instantly.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment's silence.  Then  once  again  a  bell;  and  a 
chorus  answered  it. 

Very  slowly  the  Cardinal  lifted  his  head,  and 
saw  before  him  the  Royal  barge  sway  ever  so 
slightly,  conscious  himself  that  through  his  own 
vessel  a  vibration  was  beginning  to  run  as  the  huge 
engines  beneath  moved  into  action.  Again  roared 
the  guns  far  down  the  river,  and,  as  the  bellow 
ceased,  from  a  thousand  steeples  broke  out  the 
clamor  of  brazen  tongues.     .     .     . 

He  sat  still;  he  knew  at  least  that  this  he  must 
do.  .  .  .  Surely  this  obscurity  of  brain  would 
pass  again  in  a  moment.     He  was  going  to  meet 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  411 

the  Holy  Father,  was  he  not?  .  .  .  down 
there,  down  that  road  of  hght  and  air,  along  which 
now  his  great  barge  floated  side  by  side  with  the 
King's.  That  was  it.  He  remembered  again  now 
as  his  memory  flickered  in  glimpses.  This  was  the 
great  Progress  round  the  world  of  the  new  Arbiter 
of  the  World,  the  Vicar  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
come  into  his  kingdom  at  last. 

He  kept  his  eyes  steadily  before  him,  scarcely 
seeing  the  flash  of  the  river  as  it  swept  beneath  him 
and  aw^ay,  or  on  all  sides  the  dipping  flags,  the 
monstrous  gilded  prows,  the  bravery  of  color,  down 
this  broad  road  on  which  he  went,  scarcely  con- 
scious that,  as  he  passed,  the  great  barges  wheeled 
behind  him  to  follow  to  the  meeting ;  scarcely  hear- 
ing the  tremendous  music  that,  sweeping  up  from 
the  crowded  streets  below,  wafted  up  to  him  the 
adoration  of  a  free  people  who  had  learned  at  last 
that  the  Law  of  Liberty  was  the  Law  of  Love. 

Ah !  there  at  last  they  came.     .     .     . 

Far  down,  rising"  every  instant  higher  above  the 

summer  haze,  outlined  against  a  heaven  of  intensest 

blue,  approached  a  cloud  that  sparkled  as  it  came, 

that  broke  into  a  thousand  points  of  color  —  a  long, 

flat    cloud,    seen   at   first   as   a   streamer   stretched 

across  the  sky,  curving  down  behind,  as  it  seemed, 

into  the  haze  from  which  it  came.     On  and  up  it 
21 


412  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

came,  growing  every  instant,  widening  and  deep- 
ening, ever  more  and  more  clear  in  color  and  form 
and  depth. 

It  could  be  seen  now  of  what  elements  it  was 
made  —  a  throng  of  tiny  specks,  moving  like  stately 
birds,  which,  even  as  the  eye  watched,  seemed  to 
spread  their  vrings  upon  the  breeze  that  followed; 
to  expand  their  bulk,  and  to  grow,  as  the  distance 
lessened,  into  the  separate  colors  of  each.     .     .     . 

Then  once  again  bellowed  the  guns,  heard  now 
like  the  voice  of  articulate  thunder  five  miles  be- 
hind, rolling  up  the  river  as  if  to  speed  this  fleet 
upon  its  way ;  and  still  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  those 
who  came  so  swiftly. 

There  in  front  moved  the  great  guard-ships,  mon- 
sters of  polished  steel,  decked  at  prow  and  stern 
with  the  huge  banners  that  stood  out  straight  be- 
hind in  the  swiftness  of  their  coming,  but  which, 
even  as  he  looked,  flapped  and  bellied  to  this  side 
and  that  as  the  speed  decreased.  Then,  wheeling 
outwards,  disclosing  as  they  wheeled  the  insignia 
that  each  bore,  the  eagles  of  Germany,  the  lilies  of 
France  and  the  rest,  the  guard  of  thirty  giants  fell 
once  more  into  line,  half  a  mile  apart,  as  those  that 
followed  came  on,  and  waited,  beating  the  air  with 
the  shimmer  of  their  netted  wings. 

Then  ship  after  ship  came  up,  each  wheeling  in 
its   turn   and   waiting,   building   now   up   with   the 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  413 

speed  of  thought  a  vast  semi-circle,  expanding  ever 
more  and  more  swiftly,  as  the  watcher  looked  — 
himself  halted  now,  with  the  royal  barge  on  his 
right  and  his  train  of  boats  behind.  There  each 
in  its  turn  passed  the  air-navies  of  the  Great  Pow- 
ers, come  to  bring  their  Lord  with  honor  on  his 
progress  through  the  world  —  vast  armaments  of  in- 
conceivable war,  enrolled  at  last  in  the  service  of 
the  Prince  of  Peace. 

Then  when  the  movement  was  complete,  and  there 
lay  there  across  the  burning  blue  of  the  sky,  five 
hundred  feet  in  air,  this  vast  curve  of  glittering 
splendor,  ten  miles  from  horn  to  horn,  on  came  the 
great  fleet  that  they  had  escorted. 

There,  then,  the  watcher  saw  two  by  two,  first 
the  barges  of  the  Papal  Orders,  the  Order  of  the 
Holy  Sepulcher  with  its  five- fold  cross,  and  the 
Golden  Spur,  leading  —  huge  mediaeval  galleons, 
carved  at  prow  and  stem,  each  bearing  its  insignia ; 
then  came  couple  after  couple  bearing  the  Papal 
Court,  followed  closely  by  great  barges,  each  with 
its  canopy  and  throne,  and  the  coat  of  the  Cardinal 
whom  each  bore  flying  overhead. 

And  then  a  glorious  sight. 

For,  moving  alone  in  a  solid  phalanx,  each  vessel 
separated  only  by  the  space  necessary  for  close 
maneuvering,  came  the  royal  barges  of  Europe, 
flanked  on  either  side  by  a  line  of  guard-boats  — 


414  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

France,  Austria,  and  Germany,  then  Belgium  and 
Holland,  then  the  Scandinavian  kingdoms,  then  a 
crowd  of  lesser  States  from  the  Balkan,  Greece, 
and  the  Black  Sea;  then  the  black-eagled  barge  of 
Russia,  and  finally  the  great  galleons  of  Spain  and 
Italy:  and  on  each  sat  a  royal  figure  beneath  a 
canopy  of  state.  And  last  of  all  moved  a  huge 
vessel,  in  scarlet  and  white,  with  a  banner  of  white 
and  gold  and  cross-keys  at  the  prow;  scarcely  seen 
at  first  through  the  crowding  craft,  with  a  squadron 
of  guard-ships  coming  after. 

There,  then,  the  man  who  had  lost  his  memory 
sat  motionless,  and  watched  it  all  —  this  astound- 
ing display  of  inner  grace  transformed  into  glory 
at  last,  that  Royalty  which,  since  first  the  Fisherman 
took  his  seat  in  Holy  Rome,  had  little  by  little, 
through  reverse  and  success,  forced  its  way  out- 
wards on  the  world  —  the  leaven  hid  in  the  meal 
till  all  was  leavened.  .  .  .  And  it  seemed  to 
him  as  he  looked,  as  if  through  the  splendor  of  the 
mid-day  sun,  the  glitter  of  that  sea  of  air-craft  — 
through  the  pealing  of  the  bells  beneath  and  the 
shock  of  the  guns  and  the  shrill  crying  that  filled 
the  air  —  there  moved  other  Presences,  too,  in  yet 
a  third  medium  than  those  of  air  and  earth;  as  if 
diffused  throughout  this  material  plane  was  a  world 
of  more  than  matter  and  mind,  more  than  of  sense 
and  perception  —  a  world  where  all  was  reconciled 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  415 

and  made  at  one  —  this  clash  of  flesh  and  spirit  — 
and  that  at  last  each  answered  to  each,  and  spirit 
inspired  flesh,  and  flesh  expressed  spirit.  It  seemed 
to  him,  for  one  blinding  instant,  as  if  at  last  he 
saw  how  distance  was  contained  in  a  single  point, 
color  in  whiteness,  and  sound  in  silence,  as  at  the 
very  word  of  Him  who  now  at  last  had  taken  His 
power  and  reigned,  Whose  Kingdom  at  last  had 
come  indeed,  to  whom  in  very  truth  All  Power  was 
given  in  heaven  and  earth.     .     .     . 


EPILOGUE 

'T^HE  white-skirted,  clean-looking  doctor  came 
'*'  briskly  and  noiselessly  into  the  little  room 
that  opened  off  Ward  No.  IV  in  the  Westminster 
Hospital  as  the  clock  pointed  to  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  the  nursing-sister  stood  up  to  receive 
him. 

"  Good  morning,  sister,"  he  said.  "  Any 
change?" 

"  He  seemed  a  little  disturbed  about  an  hour  ago 
by  the  bells,"  she  said.  "  But  he  hasn't  spoken  at 
all." 

Together  they  stood  and  looked  down  on  the  un- 
conscious man.  He  lay  there  motionless  with 
closed  eyes,  his  unshaven  cheek  resting  on  his  hand, 
his  face  fallen  into  folds  and  hollows,  colorless  and 
sallow.  The  red  coverlet  drawn  up  over  his  shoul- 
der helped  to  emphasize  his  deadly  pallor. 

"  It's  a  curious  case,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I've 
never  seen  coma  in  such  a  case  last  so  long." 

He  still  stared  at  him  a  moment  or  two ;  then  he 
laid  the  back  of  his  hand  gently  against  the  dying 
man's  cheek,  then  again  he  consulted  through  his 

416 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  417 

glasses  the  chart  that  hung  over  the  head  of  the 
bed. 

"  Win  he  recover  consciousness  before  the  end, 
doctor?  " 

"  It's  very  likely ;  it's  impossible  to  say.  Send 
for  me  if  there's  any  change." 

"I  mayn't  send  for  a  priest,  doctor?"  she  said 
hesitatingly.     ''  You  know  — " 

He  shook  his  head  sharply. 

"  No,  no.  He  distinctly  refused,  you  remem- 
ber. It's  impossible,  sister.  .  ^  .  I'm  very 
sorry." 

When  he  had  gone,  she  sat  down  again,  and  drew 
out  her  beads  furtively  upon  her  lap. 

It  was  a  horrible  position  for  her.  She,  a  Cath- 
olic, knew  now  pretty  well  the  history  of  this  man 
—  that  he  himself  was  a  priest  who  had  lost  the 
faith,  who  had  associated  himself  with  an  historian 
who  was  writing  a  history  of  the  Popes  from  what 
he  called  an  impartial  standpoint,  who  had,  so  the 
doctor  said,  distinctly  and  resentfully  refused  the 
suggestion  that  another  priest  should  be  sent  to 
help  him  to  make  his  peace  before  he  died.  And, 
for  her,  as  a  convinced  Catholic,  the  position  had  a 
terror  that  is  simply  inconceivable  to  those  of  a  less 
positive   faith. 

She  could  do  nothing  more.  .  .  .  She  said 
her  beads. 


4i8  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

There  was  a  curious  mixture  of  silence  and  sound 
here  on  this  Easter  Sunday  in  this  bare,  airy  Httle 
ward,  with  the  door  closed,  and  the  windows  open 
only  at  the  top.  The  room  had  a  remote  kind  of 
atmosphere  about  it,  obtained  perhaps  partly  by 
the  solidity  of  the  walls,  partly  by  the  fact  that  it 
looked  out  on  to  a  comparatively  unfrequented 
lane,  partly  by  the  suggestiveness  of  a  professional 
sick-room.  The  world  was  all  about  it;  yet  it 
seemed  rather  to  this  nurse,  sitting  alone  at  her 
prayers  and  duties,  as  if  she  had  a  window  into 
the  common  world  of  life  rather  than  that  she 
actually  was  a  part  of  it.  Even  the  sounds  that 
entered  here  had  this  remote  tone  about  them;  the 
footsteps  and  talking  of  strayed  holiday-makers, 
occasional  fragmentary  peals  of  bells,  the  striking 
of  the  clock  in  high  Victoria  Tower  —  all  these 
noises  came  into  the  room  delicately  and  sugges- 
tively rather  than  as  interruptions,  yet  distinct  and 
noticeable  because  of  the  absence  of  the  usual  rush 
of  traffic  across  the  great  square  outside. 

The  nurse  dozed  a  little  over  her  beads.  (She  had 
been  on  duty  since  the  evening  before,  and  would 
not  be  relieved  for  another  hour  yet. )  And  it  seemed 
to  her,  as  so  often  in  that  half-sleep,  half-wake- 
fulness  when  the  drowsy  brain  knows  all  necessary 
things  and  awakes  alert  again  in  an  instant  at  any 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  419 

unusual  movement  or  sound,  as  if  these  sounds  be- 
gan to  take  on  them  tones  of  other  causes  than 
those  of  themselves. 

It  seemed,  for  example,  as  if  the  steady  murmur 
were  the  shouting  of  phantom  crowds  at  an  immeas- 
urable distance,  punctuated  now  again  by  the  noise 
of  distant  guns,  as,  somewhere  round  a  corner  a 
vehicle  passed  over  a  crossing  of  cobble-stones ;  as 
if  the  bells  of  the  churches  rang  with  a  deliberate 
purpose,  to  welcome  or  rejoice  over  some  event 
.  some  entry  of  a  king,  she  fancied,  in  a 
far-off  city.  Once  even,  so  deep  grew  her  drowsi- 
ness, she  fancied  herself  looking  down  on  some 
such  city,  herself  up  in  the  sunlight  and  air,  float- 
ing on  the  cloudy  vessel  of  her  own  sleep.     .     .     . 

'^  Pray  for  us  sinners,"  she  murmured,  "  now  and 
in  the  hour  of  our  death." 

Then  she  awoke  in  earnest,  and  saw  the  eyes  of 
the  patient  fixed  intelligently  upon  her. 

"  Fetch  a  priest,"  he  said. 

"  Father,"  said  the  dying  man  an  hour  later,  "  is 
that  all?     Have  you  finished ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  father  —  thank  God !  "     .     .     . 

"  Well ;  sit  down  a  minute  or  two.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

The  young  priest,  sent  for  nearly  an  hour  ago  in 
haste  from  the  Cathedral,  finished  putting  up  again 


420  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

into  his  little  leather  case  the  tiny  stocks  of  holy 
oil  with  which  he  had  just  anointed  the  dying  man. 
He  had  heard  his  confession  ...  he  had  re- 
turned again  to  fetch  the  Viaticum  and  the  oils; 
and  now  all  was  done ;  and  the  old  priest  was  recon- 
ciled and  at  peace.  The  young  man  was  still  a  little 
tremulous;  it  was  his  first  reconciliation  of  a  dying 
apostate,  and  it  seemed  to  him  a  marvelous  thing  that 
a  man  could  come  back  after  so  long,  and  so  simply 
—  and  an  apostate  priest  at  that!  He  had  heard 
this    man's    name    before,    and    heard    his    story. 

But  he  was  intensely  anxious  to  know  what  it 
was  that  had  wrought  the  miracle.  The  sister  had 
told  him  that  until  this  moment  the  patient  had 
steadily  refused  even  the  suggestion  to  send  for  a 
priest.  And  then  when  he  had  come,  there  had  been 
no  preliminaries.  He  had  simply  slipped  on  his 
stole  as  the  sister  went  to  the  door,  sat  down  by 
the  bedside,  heard  the  confession  and  undertaken 
one  or  two  little  acts  of  restitution  on  his  penitent's 
behalf. 

He  sat  down  again  now  and  waited. 

The  man  in  the  bed  lay  with  closed  eyes,  and  an 
extraordinary  peace  rested  over  him.  It  was  al- 
most impossible  to  believe,  so  white  were  the  re- 
flections of  these  clean  walls,  so  white  the  linen, 
that  there  was  not  a  certain  interior  luminosity  that 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  421 

shone  over  his  features.  His  chin  and  lips  and 
jaws  were  covered  with  a  week's  stubble,  his  eye- 
lids were  sunk  in  the  sockets,  and  the  temples  looked 
shrunken  and  hollow;  yet  there  was  a  clearness  of 
skin,  not  yet  dusky  with  the  shadow  of  death,  that 
appeared  almost  supernatural  to  this  young  man 
who  looked  at  him. 

"  The  sign  of  the  Prophet  Jonas,"  said  the  dying 
priest  suddenly.     .     .     .     ''  Resurrection." 

"Yes?" 

"  That  is  what  I  have  seen,"  he  said.  .  .  . 
''  No ;  I  know  it  was  a  dream.  .  .  .  But  it  is 
possible;  the  Church  has  the  power  within  her.  It 
may  happen  some  day;  or  it  may  not.  But  there 
is  no  reason  why  it  should  not?  " 

The  other  leant  over  him. 

"  My  dear  father  — "  he  began. 

The  old  priest  smiled. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  heard  that,"  he  said. 
.     .     .     ''  What's  your  name,   father  ?  " 

"  Jervis  .  .  .  Father  Jervis.  I  come  from 
the  Cathedral." 

The  eyes  opened  and  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Eh?" 

"  Father  Jervis,"  said  the  young  priest  again. 

"Any  relations?" 

"  Some   nephews  —  children.     That's  all  of  my 


422  THE  DAWN  OF  ALL 

"Ah,  well!  Perhaps—"  (He  broke  off). 
''  Did  they  tell  me  your  name,  before  I  became  un- 
conscious? " 

"  It's  very  likely.  I'm  the  visiting  chaplain 
here." 

''Ah,  well!  Who  knows — ?  But  that  doesn't 
matter.  .  .  .  Father,  how  long  have  I  to 
live?" 

The  young  priest  leaned  forward  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  other's  arm. 

"  A  few  hours  only,  father,"  he  said  gently. 
.     .     .     ''You  are  not  afraid?" 

'' Afraid  r' 

His  eyes  closed,  and  he  smiled  naturally  and 
easily. 

"  Well ;    listen.     Lean    closer.       .       .       .       No 

.  .  call  the  sister  in.  I  want  her  to  hear, 
too." 

"Sister—" 

She  came  forward,  her  eyes  heavy  with  sleep,  but 
they  w^re  bright,  too,  with  an  immense  joy. 

"Can  you  wait  up  a  little  longer,  sister?"  said 
Father  Jervis.  "  He  wants  us  both  to  hear  what 
he  has  to  say." 

"  Why,  of  course." 

She  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed. 

Still  the  sounds  from  outside  went  on  —  the  foot- 
steps and  the  voices  and  the  bells.     They  were  be- 


THE  DAWN  OF  ALL  423 

ginning  to  ring  for  the  Easter  morning  service 
in  the  Abbey ;  and  still,  within  this  room,  was  this 
air  of  silence  and  remoteness. 

"  Now,   listen   carefully,"    said   the   dying   man. 


THE  END 


^^■y\J 


Hi, 


yj 


•h  '  -V- 


Tl..!* 


•r^r 


"...  jw.  •*  -.    tx-  ^"ixr.c*i 


;;:^v;r^ 


